Risk
by Darkwatch
Summary: On Cybertron, the line between good and evil is not necessarily represented by Maximal versus Predacon...and one Predacon assassin will find that old hatreds and deadly plots have attempted to draw that line right through his life.
1. Chapter I

_Author's note: This is a departure from my regular fare in both plot and style, but I figured I'd try it out here anyway. It's a work-in-progress, so some parts may change when the fic is completed. Thanks as always to Liz for her help. Regarding time: a "stellar cycle" is roughly equivalent to a "year", both in terms of a Cybertronian calendar/dating system and the rate at which bots mature, though the length of a stellar cycle is most likely much different from that of an Earth year. And to clarify, all scenes that begin with a dated header are scenes from the past.  _

_***_

Two silent ships careened through the sky above Cybertron. The first zigzagged abruptly and the other matched the maneuver, obviously in pursuit.

Communications suddenly crackled to life on the first ship, and the face of the bounty hunter appeared on the screen. "The game is up, Risk," he snarled. "You've just made your last kill."

The young Predacon smirked. "Not likely," he responded, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "But sure, let's see what you've got anyway." He closed the channel and attached a wire from his head to the console, connecting his small jet's viewscreen to his targeting eye for better control.

The hunter's ship fired. Risk easily evaded the missile, obviously a warning shot. After all, he knew that he was worth more alive than dead.

Well, to some contractors anyway. Others would be perfectly pleased to see him destroyed.

Risk put his ship into a near-vertical dive towards the planet's surface. As expected, the other ship followed. Risk pulled up just before impact, skimming the ground, and the hunter's ship did the same. 

Again the hunter opened communication. "Did you really think that would stop me? That I would fall for such an old trick?"

"Nah, just testing your piloting skills…I expect a certain level of ability from anyone who comes after _me_."

The hunter growled. "Your overconfidence will certainly get you killed, boy."

"I wish," Risk muttered. He closed the channel and locked it, tiring of the same old threats. His attention returned to piloting as he maneuvered around the buildings of a less populated area of the planet. The hunter matched his every move and began firing. The blasts were more dangerous now—obviously no longer warning shots, these were meant to cripple the ship at the least. Risk dodged those, but they were getting a little too close.

Time for Plan B. Risk disconnected his targeting eye from the console, unstrapped himself from his seat and prepared to initiate his ship's cloak. Of course, any well-equipped hunter would have the technology to see through the cloak, but Risk knew that it would take a moment for the hunter to realize and switch locator systems. He planned to take full advantage of that moment.

Once again Risk put his ship into a dive toward the ground. As expected, the hunter followed suit. At less than ten meters above the street, Risk initialized cloaking, pulled up, and dropped out the hatch in the bottom of the ship, momentarily under the cover of the ship's cloak before it soared upwards once more.

"What?" The hunter gasped as his prey suddenly disappeared from his viewscreen. He narrowed his eyes. "Cloaking won't help you, boy; you should know that." He flipped a switch and his viewscreen changed. Risk's ship was once again visible. "I have you now," the hunter muttered, aiming his primary weapon. "Perhaps your reputation wasn't so deserved."

By the time his computer alerted him, it was too late. In that split-second the hunter realized that the missile heading straight for him had been fired not from Risk's ship but from the street below. He bellowed a curse as his ship exploded.

Risk returned his small missile launcher to subspace and watched the fiery fragments of the hunter's ship plummet to the ground. There was no way the hunter would have survived that—after all, he wasn't Risk.

Sparks suddenly flew from Risk's elbow, and a muttered curse escaped him. He'd landed a little harder than expected. Internal diagnostics told him that it should be easily repairable and wouldn't hamper transformation. All in all, not such a bad night, then. Not like he wasn't used to being damaged.

He opened the secure channel to his ship. "Go home," he stated simply, engaging the autopilot program to send the ship back to its hidden hangar. Then he transformed and sped off in a different direction. By the time the police arrived to investigate the explosion, the black and silver motorcycle had long since disappeared.

*

**_Twelve stellar cycles ago**_

"Hey, you're not gonna believe this! There's a new kid here today!"

"So? It's an orphanage, scrapheap. Of course there's gonna be new kids. Preds never want their kids, just like the headmasters are always tellin' us." I give him a withering look.

He actually doesn't wilt. "Sure, but this kid is a _Maximal._"

I jump off my bed. "No kiddin'?"

"Yeah, c'mon…the guys are already 'welcomin'' him. I figured you'd wanna come tell him yourself who's the boss around here." He grins, obviously proud that he was the one to tell me.

I don't return the grin. He's such a suck-up. I'd punch him now, but I'd rather see this new Maximal, 'cause we barely ever get those around here. So I follow.

The Preds around my age already have the new kid surrounded. They're poking and taunting him, everything that bullies are supposed to do. I'd know.

"What's goin' on?"

They all stop right away and turn to look at me. They fear me. I like that.

"The new kid's a _Maximal,_" one says.

"Yeah? Let's have a look."

The circle opens for me and I get my first look at the Maximal. He's small and probably no more than five stellar cycles old. At ten, I tower over him. His yellow eyes are looking up at me, and his blue face is pinched up. "I want my mom," he sobs.

"You don't have a mom any more, or else you wouldn't be here, Maxie." One of the other kids shoves him, and he stumbles into me. 

I end up catching him and he puts his arms around me. Normally I'd push him off and he'd be eating floor in a nano, but…

He lets go and looks up at me again, terrified. Okay, how come I haven't shown him who's boss around here yet?

The others are all staring at me. They must be wondering too. "So c'mon," one of them says, "what're you gonna do about him?"

I take one more look down at the kid. Yeah, he's really scared. Life is gonna be slag for him here since there're hardly any other Maximals. And just because this place is run by Maximals doesn't mean he'll fit in or be protected all the time. "Nothin'. And that goes for all o' you too."

One of the taller ones steps forward. "What? But he's a _Maximal_!"

The kid's taller than me, but that doesn't matter. He already knows that I could beat him easily if I felt like trying. 

"Yeah, and?" I get right in his face. "I say you're gonna stop pickin' on him. You wanna cross me?"

He stares at me for a bit, then gets a pouting look. "Like I care," he huffs, and backs down. Yeah, he'd better.

I walk away. What did I just do? I don't get it. _I__'m _the bully, the one who picks on and beats up the others. So what am I doing?

The kid's following me.

"What do _you _want?"

He jumps back a bit and cringes. "Um, n-nothin'…"

I ignore him and keep on walking, hoping he'll get it. Like I need a little Maximal tagalong? How embarrassing!

I go back to the bedroom and flop down on my bed. He didn't stop following. Now he's sitting on the bed nearest mine, the one that nobody uses because I don't want anyone sleeping close to me. The other kids know better than to even try to use that bed.

This kid doesn't. It's annoying me, but he's not getting the picture. "Look, kid…"

"Can I stay with you?"

"What?" Why would anybody want to? "Okay, maybe you don't know who I am? I'm the boss around here, okay? You do what I tell you."

He just stares at me. "Can I?"

Why isn't he afraid of me like he's supposed to be? "Okay, fine…but just for tonight, and then you're gonna have to move."

I must be glitched. Still, the kid gives me a small smile before lying down and curling up. I watch him for a bit. Okay, so maybe it doesn't feel so bad to have a kid actually looking up to me instead of just being afraid…

But it's not gonna last, so he'd better not get too comfy in that bed. He'll have to learn to be afraid of me like everyone else. I don't need a friend, least of all a Maximal one.

*

Risk doubled back on his trail twice to make certain that he hadn't been followed. Satisfied, he transformed back to robot mode and entered the old warehouse through a door that looked for all the world like it had been permanently sealed long ago. He navigated around the giant rusting metal crates stored there and stopped in front of a specific one. Hidden in its shadow was a very faint outline of a trapdoor. Risk opened it and let himself down through the hole, closing the door behind him.

The basement was dark and empty, but Risk did not need to switch to night vision to find his way. He placed his hand on a certain spot on the farthest wall. His hand passed right through and the rest of him followed suit, entering through a holographic wall that covered a hole only barely large enough for him to fit through.

Home.

The base wasn't very large; in fact it was really only one room in which Risk had managed to squeeze in his computer equipment, all his weapons and training targets, his small yet top-of-the-line CR-tank, and a bed. There wasn't much space left, but he didn't really mind. He had everything he needed right here. He had other bases hidden around the planet, but this one was where he kept his personal items and favourite weapons. This was home.

Risk began to remove his weapons, preparing to enter the CR-tank for repairs. He addressed the computer. "Perimeter report."

"_No movement_," the computer replied monotonically. 

"Keep it that way."

"_High alert acknowledged. Two new messages_."

"Later." 

"_Acknowledged_." The computer went silent.

Risk yawned and settled in to the CR-tank, looking forward to the often dreamless sleep that accompanied a repair cycle.

*

_**Eleven stellar cycles ago**_

"So what's with you and that Maximal?"

"What're you talkin' about?" I scowl at him. I wish kids would stop asking.

"You never made him move off that bed. You even _talk _to him sometimes, I've seen you." The kid puts his hands on his hips. "Ya know what I think?"

"I don't care." Can't they all leave me alone about this? It's embarrassing enough!

"I think you're goin' all soft-Spark. The Maximal's like your buddy now."

My hands ball into fists. "You better take that back. I can beat you as easy as anyone else here." I notice other kids gathering.

"Ooh, you're so scary…tough guy who plays with Maximal babies."

Some of the kids snicker. "Shut up!" I growl at them. "I do not!"

"Then how come you're always on his side, huh? You get in the way when anybody bugs him. What, you wanna be a Maximal when you grow up?"

That does it. I leap on him, pummeling him with my fists. "I am _not _a Maximal!" I'll show him! There's a reason why kids know better than to pick fights with me.

There's shouting all around me, and I suddenly notice it's not the usual cheering. I stop punching and stand up. They're taunting me. _Me!_

"You love Maximals!"

"You think you're so tough! Some Pred!"

"Soft-Spark!"

"Glitched!"

"You all shut up!" I scream. "You're gonna get it!" I rush at the nearest one and he flinches back. Yeah, he'd better be scared.

"What's goin' on?" A smaller voice suddenly pipes up from the back of the crowd.

"Stay out of it, Maxie." One of the kids looks at me a nano and then purposely shoves the Maximal so that he falls.

Everyone stares at me. The kid smirks. "You gonna do somethin' about that?" 

I glare at him.

The Maximal is looking up at me. "Go away," I tell him rudely. This is all I need.

He gets up, looking kind of hurt at that. Well, what am I supposed to do? Everyone's watching! He's ruining things!

Two kids grab him before he can leave. They start pushing him around, shoving him between them, and more join in.

I'm still just standing there. I know they're doing this on purpose. They want me to do something. Well, I won't.

"Ow! Stop it!" The Maximal cries out as he gets shoved back and forth.

My hands ball into fists again, and I can feel my face twitching. I try to stay calm. Nope. Not gonna help. I'll show them that I'm still a Pred. I'm still the toughest one here. I don't care about this Maximal. I don't care about anybody.

He falls and they jerk him back up so they can push and laugh at him some more. Every few nanos one of them sneaks a look at me, still waiting for me to do something to stop them.

I still don't care. I don't. I _don__'t_. Stupid Maximal ruining everything.

He falls again, and for a nano his eyes catch mine. "Help…" he whimpers.

I shake my head. I can't! I've got a reputation to keep up, why doesn't he see that? I didn't work at becoming the toughest kid here for nothing. I can't keep doing stuff like this! He can't be my friend!

Even if he does look up to me.

One of the kids grabs him by the collar and raises a fist. "Oh, quit whinin', Maxie."

I barely know what I'm doing before I'm on top of him. Other kids try to join in, but they don't get far. "You're gonna slaggin' do what I tell you!" I yell as I punch any kid who gets near. "I said not to mess with him, so you don't! And _don__'t_ mess with _me_!"

A strong arm suddenly grabs me around the waist and pulls me off of them, still kicking and fighting. 

"That is _enough_!" The deep voice of the headmaster stops all the kids in their tracks. 

Except me. "You hear me?" I'm still yelling, trying to squirm loose so I can get at them again. "The next guy who slaggin'—"

"I said, that's _enough_. And I don't want to hear any more such language!" The headmaster turns me around to face him and holds me tightly by the arm. His hand is big enough to close around my upper arm. "_You _again. Don't you ever stop fighting?"

I just scowl and don't answer.

"Now who started this? Was it you?"

The other kids wait in silence. I can see some of them smirking out of the corner of my eye. I stare angrily at the floor. I'm not a squealer, and they know it.

"All right, then." The headmaster looks down at me. "I know one young Predacon who will not get to play outside for the next three days. You'll be staying in your room. And no holo-comics, either."

My jaw drops. "No! Not fair!"

"I believe it's perfectly fair. Come along, now." He starts walking back to the bedroom, pulling me along. 

I try to get away, but he's got a strong grip on my arm. Prying his fingers off isn't working, and neither is hitting and pushing his arm. "Let me go! I hate you!"

That doesn't slow him down any. When we get back to the bedroom he sits me down on my bed and then reaches underneath it, pulling out my two holo-comics.

I jump up and try to grab them away from him. "Don't take my stuff!" I yell at him, and my voice breaks a little. Those are mine! They're _mine_! No fair!

The head master sits me back down and puts the comics into one of his compartments. "You'll get them back when your punishment is over. Honestly, I don't understand why you won't learn your lesson. Fighting won't be tolerated here; you know that. You may be a Predacon, but you're going to have to learn that you can't act this way. I know you've been careful to make yourself unwanted to any prospective parents, and I don't understand why, after all we've tried to teach you…"

I tune him out. Blah, blah, blah. I hate lectures and I hate you. Go away.

"…Do you understand?"

I cross my arms and stare at the floor. "Yes, sir," I mumble. As if I'd really been listening.

"Good. Now behave, and you'll get your comics back in three days." He leaves and shuts the door behind him.

I get up and give my bed a few hard kicks before angrily throwing myself onto it again. Not fair! Punished again, and he even took away my comics! I hate him! I hate everybody! I wish I was dead.

No—I wish everyone _else _was dead.

The door suddenly opens a crack, and someone slips inside. It's the Maximal. He comes over to my bed, being careful to stay quiet. Nobody's supposed to come in the room during someone else's punishment. Stupid kid. I'll bet they'll catch him, and I'll get blamed.

"Hey! Psst!"

I ignore his whisper and roll over to face the wall. 

He tries again. "Psst!"

"Go away!" I hiss at him. "This is _your _fault. You got me in trouble with _everybody_!"

He pauses. "Thanks for helpin'…"

"I said, go away! You ruin everything!"

I can tell he's about to start sobbing again. "Um, I brought you somethin'…"

I roll back over to tell him where he can shove it, but stop. He's holding out his hand, and there's a holo-comic in it. I just stare at him. He sneaked that in here? For me?

"I heard th' headmaster say he took yours away," he continues, still holding the comic out for me.

I take it from him, not knowing what to say.

"So you can read mine 'til you get yours back."

I finally open my mouth, but I can only think of one thing to say. "Why?"

"Cause…you're my friend." He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"I am?"

"Yeah." He creeps back to the door. "Don't tell th' headmaster 'bout the comic, 'kay? Secret." He grins at me.

"…Okay…"

He leaves, and I just sit there, staring at the comic in my hand.

Friend?

*

_"Repair cycle complete.__"_

The platform rose up from the CR-tank, and Risk climbed out, flexing his now-repaired elbow. He checked his internal clock to see how long he had been in the tank, and made a face.

"Perimeter report," he demanded again.

_"No movement.__"_

Risk relaxed slightly. "Good. You never know what might be sneaking up on you while you're in the tank."

_"Command not recognized.__"_

"Right," Risk sighed. "You don't have to listen to slaggin' everything I say. All right, what have you got for me?"

_"Three new messages.__"___

"Decrypt message one. Let's see how fast this new program can do it." Risk sat down and began reloading some of his weapons.

It took the computer less than a cycle to unlock the high-level encryption. _"Ready.__"_

Risk smirked. "I love being rich enough to afford the best. Display message."

_"Complying.__"_

Lines of text appeared on the screen, and Risk read through them quickly. "Maximals," he muttered, shaking his head. "Someday I'd like to let the public know just what their government people do behind closed doors."

_"Command?__"___

A wire and socket shot out from Risk's forearm and connected with a port on the computer. "Download mission specs: name, description, time limit, specifics." He waited a moment, his blue eyes blankly staring as he assimilated the information. "Well, at least this one requires no witnesses. I hate those public jobs." He paused, and sadness seemed to flicker over his expression for a moment.

"Send affirmative reply. High-level encryption and reroute signal," he commanded, his features once again cold and businesslike. "Decrypt and display message two."

Again he skimmed through the text on the screen. "Civilian?" he blurted. "Ugh, personal dispute, obviously. Computer, trace source and run background check. Let's make sure this guy can afford me. The best don't come cheap, and I don't work for free."

_"Acknowledged.__"___

"And decrypt and display third message while I'm waiting."

The message came up, and a look of satisfaction crossed Risk's face as he read it. "You bet your skidplate it was a job well done. Computer, begin transfer of funds from 'Drop-off' through secondary accounts. Random path, two-day delay. Half into 'Safety', half into 'Mine'."

_"Acknowledged.__"_The computer paused. _"Background check completed.__"_

"Let's see it." Risk read through the information. "Huh. Definitely civilian versus civilian. Don't get many of those any more. I hate this personal stuff. Well, download mission specs." He sighed as he absorbed the download. "Not that I care, though. He can pay; that's all that matters. Send affirmative reply. High-level encryption, and reroute it through a different path than the last message."

_"Acknowledged.__ Command?__"_

Risk disconnected from the computer. "I need a break. Keep it quiet out there."

_"Acknowledged. __'Break__' alarm set: four megacycles. High alert set.__"_

Risk finished reloading his weapon and laid down on his bed, pulling something from underneath it. "And shut up."

_"Acknowledged.__"_The computer entered silent mode.

*

_**Nine stellar cycles ago**_

I'm dreaming.

At least I think I am. But this dream feels…_different _from normal. It's like I'm standing here waiting for something. It's making me nervous.

The image of my friend shimmers into view, standing a little ways away. I call to him, wondering what's going on, but he doesn't seem to hear me or even realize I'm there. When I move, I don't get any closer to him. Right. Weird dream stuff. Still…

_"Protect him.__"_

The voice comes from all around me, and I can't figure out its source. "What? Who is this?"

_"You will protect him.__"_

"What do you mean? I always do! Who are you, anyway?"

_"There will come a time when it will require your sacrifice.__"_

It takes me a second to process this. "What? No way! Look, whatever you are—"

_"You will. It is your destiny. You will die to save his life.__"_

I don't like the sound of this at all. "Okay, I don't care if this is the Matrix itself talking, _nobody _tells me what to do with _my_ life!"

_"He has a part to play, as do you. The time will come.__"_

I jerk awake with a gasp. It takes a moment for my senses to adjust, but I'm in my bed in the orphanage. Okay, so it _was_ just a dream.

Weirdest slaggin' dream ever.

I sit up and look over to the bed nearest mine. He's sleeping, like everyone else. He has no idea what's just happened.

_Did _something even happen? It was just a dream. Not real. Right?

Wasn't it?

No. It was more. I don't know why or how, but I _know_ this.

I keep staring at him. Over the last three years, he's become the only bot I've ever cared about. I don't know how that happened. Somehow that Maximal kid grew on me, and although I don't admit it to anyone, I think he's my friend.

Still…saying I'm gonna die to save him? No. Not gonna happen. Why _should _I? What makes him so special?

I'm still staring at him, and now it's just making me angrier. I don't care how special that dream-voice prophecy-thing thinks he is…this is _not _gonna come true. I'm gonna make sure it doesn't.

But how? The voice didn't give me any specifics. It didn't tell me how or when this is going to happen. How am I supposed to know? How am I supposed to avoid it? Only one way, as far as I can tell.

I get up quietly and start packing the little personal items I actually own, which isn't much. My three holo-comics are under the bed, along with a couple of photos and some credits that I've stolen from other kids. I guess it's a good thing I don't have much…all of it fits into my personal compartments. I can travel light.

Once that's done, I head for the window. They think they lock it every night, but I know how to open it. It makes a bit of noise, and I turn to check if anyone heard it. My friend stirs a bit, but doesn't wake up. I give a little sigh of relief. Primus knows I don't wanna have to explain this one to anybody, especially not him. He probably wouldn't want me to leave. Right…stay here and die protecting him. Not _this_Pred, thanks. 

Halfway out the window I can't help looking back at him one last time. I wonder if I might miss him. But if I never see him again, I can't die saving him, now, can I? "Sorry, kid, you're on your own now," I whisper as I climb all the way out the window.

It's only a one-level drop to the ground, and normally I could do it easily. But this time I land a little wrong and something in my knee makes a snapping sound. I curse. Great. Could this get any better?

Self-repairs should take care of it, though. In the meantime, I limp away, hoping that this time they won't find me and drag me back kicking and screaming like they did so many times when I was a kid. This time it's different. I _can__'t_ go back there…not with him there.

One last look, and I'm gone. Nobody's gonna tell me what to do with my life.

*

The computer beeped, and Risk looked up from his holo-comic. "Yeah, yeah, one more cycle. Lemme just finish this part." He read a little farther, then shut the comic off and placed it under his bed.

"Time to go to work." Risk began checking his weapons and attaching them as he mentally went over the information he had downloaded for the first assignment. "Okay, according to this, this guy works late…so it's probably best to get him as he leaves work. There shouldn't be any witnesses around. Computer, show me the location of Maximal government building twelve-C."

The map appeared on the screen, and Risk gave a slight groan. "Great, right in the middle of downtown Cybertropolis. And it's getting harder for me to get in and out of there unnoticed, now that half the hunters on Cybertron have a copy of my slaggin' energy signature." He sighed. "Well, can't say I don't love a challenge. All right, give me a detailed layout of the three blocks surrounding the building."

The screen changed to show each building and its floor plan. "Go 3-D," Risk commanded as he attached a wire from the computer port to his targeting eye, virtually bringing him inside the map. "Okay, let's see…setup point, escape route…" he murmured as he looked around, checking for good vantage points. Only one of the nearby buildings provided a clear shot at the government building's exit. "Computer, access security information for this building: guards, systems."

_"Access denied. Building owned by Synergy Corporation.__"_

"Then hack into it! And make sure they don't try to trace us."

_"Complying.__"_There was a few moments' delay, and then information began popping up on the screen.

"That's better. Display it in the map."

The security measures appeared around the virtual building, and Risk took note of all of them. "Okay, not so bad…I can figure a way to get around these if I have to. Looks like this building is the best bet…there aren't any good setup points anywhere else."

_"Command?__"___

"Hang on a cycle. I'm not liking this escape route much." Risk groaned slightly. "Just my luck that I'd have to use a corporate building…they have better security than even government ones." He made a run-through of the building, but various security measures kept hampering his movements. "No, too slow! Slaggit."

_"Command?__"_

"Shut _up_, will you? Gimme a chance to figure this out!" Risk's tone was more than frustrated as he ran through a different route only to find himself face to face with several virtual guards. "What is _with _this place? They've got security out the exhaust port!" He paused, thinking. "Synergy Corporation…where have I heard that name before? Computer, give me the specs on this company."

_"Synergy Corporation: nanotechnology and Transformation. Programs and Transformation modifications available through__—"_

"Cut this slag and dig deeper. What does this place _really _do?"

_"Retrieving__…" _The computer paused for longer this time as it hacked into more secure files. _"Arms systems provider.__ Research into core programming modification.__"_

Risk's eyes widened. "Weapons and brainwashing?" He shook his head slowly. "Well, it had to be something…all these corporations have their secrets. Still, I don't think that's it. I know I remember that name from somewhere…"

_"Command?__"___

"Check old mission records. Have I worked for them before? Or killed one of theirs?"

_"Searching records__…negative.__"___

"What about equipment? Did I ever purchase anything from them?"

_"Long-distance targeting scope for TS-24 rifle is traceable to Synergy Corporation.__"_

"Maybe that's it." Risk didn't sound entirely convinced. He pondered that for a moment, then shrugged. "I haven't used that gun in stellar cycles now. It's obsolete." He returned his attention to the 3-D map. "Anyway, I've got a job to plan."

Several run-throughs later, he finally disconnected himself from the virtual map with a sigh. "Looks like I'll have to go in and out through the roof." He scowled. "I hate that—so exposed to fliers."

_"Command?__"___

Once again Risk connected himself to the computer. "Download map layout with selected route." He sighed again. "I really don't feel like doing this one right away. It needs at least one full simulation run. Hm…time limit: four solar days before target transfers. Plenty of time. Let's see about this other job, then…the stupid personal one." 

Risk checked his download for that mission. "Okay, looks easy enough…target lives alone; easily accessible apartment building. I know where that is." He scanned through more of the file and groaned slightly. "Preferred method: accident or random attack. Primus, those are no fun at all. Okay, access physical description." His internal computer brought up the information, and Risk gasped. More than just the physical description had been absorbed into his memory. "'My fem has been seeing this slagheap behind my…'" Risk said aloud, and his face twisted in anger. "What the—? What makes this malfunctioning piece of scrap think I need to hear about this? I don't want to know about their glitched lives! Slaggin' idiots think I care or something?" He picked up an ammunition clip and hurled it to the floor.

_"Command?__"___

"Send a message to Mission four-zero-nine-one Contact. Tell him the price just went up by five thousand credits. And if he doesn't like it, he can just take his business to some second-rate wannabe."

_"Acknowledged.__"___

Annoyed, Risk sat down on the edge of his bed and folded his arms sulkily.

_"Message sent. Command?__"_

Risk picked up his practice gun and almost absently fired it at a target on the far wall, effortlessly hitting the direct center. "Let me know when message reply is received. Until then, shut up and run program Target-Four-Five."

_"Acknowledged.__"_Once again the computer entered silent mode. Holographic targets were projected around the room, simulating different distances, and Risk vented his frustrations by shooting each one of them dead on.

*

_**Eight stellar cycles ago**_

I'm starving.

My systems are aching for energon. I haven't felt this low in a long time. I gotta get some, soon. But I don't have any creds. I spent them all…again. Now I'm gonna have to go out and get more.

The energon I had should have lasted a little longer…I guess that's what I get for having to spend all that energy running from those guys yesterday. Should've been more careful stealing from them. Next time I'll be better and I won't get seen, especially not by guys like that. Primus, they would have killed me if they'd caught me. I was lucky that police car passed by and made them take off.

I squeeze out of the hole in the wall of the condemned apartment building whose basement I call home. Nice home, huh? Filthy, falling apart…but at least nobody else lives there but me, and I can stay hidden from the police. If they caught me they'd take me back to the orphanage. But I'm not gonna get caught. 

Okay, so there have been times when I've thought about going back. It's hard out here. At least in the orphanage I had a proper bed and enough energon. But I can't. The thought of that prophecy… If I want my life to be mine, this is just the way it's gonna have to be. At least out here I'm nowhere near that Maximal.

I drag my jetboard out behind me. Yeah, it's stolen. I can't afford something like this. But I've been spending all my creds upgrading it lately. If I can get good enough at it, maybe I can get myself out of this hole. But for now, it's all about energon. I step on, fire it up and head towards the city to find a good mark. I need creds, and I need them _now._

The jetboard is on its highest speed, and I try to push it faster. It's not nearly good enough to really be able to compete yet. If I can get some spare creds, I'm gonna upgrade it again and make it faster. Then I'll show people what I can do. I know there are competitions with cash prizes, and I aim to win some someday.

I speed through the streets, weaving around other vehicles. Just through that alley and over another block or so, there are easy pickings of rich businessmen on their way home from work. I can lift enough of their creds to get the energon I need and then some. I soar down the alley, barely thinking about anything else but how low I am. I hit the end of the alley still at top speed, and a horn blasts my auditory sensors. It throws me off balance for a moment, and I see a vehicle headed straight at me. I try to leap clear, but it's not gonna be far enough. 

It's gonna hit me. 

I'm gonna die! 

Something inside me laughs at that, saying _well, I guess that prophecy was wrong, wasn__'t it__…_

As I leap, my jetboard flies out from under me and somehow manages to hit the vehicle's hover system underneath it. The car swerves, and clips me as it roars past.

"Glitched Pred kids!" I hear the driver yell out his window.

I'm too shocked to reply. My fluid pump is hammering in my chest. That was _close. _Impossibly close. I should be dead. If it hadn't been for the jetboard falling the way it did…

The jetboard! It's lying near the curb, and I get up and hobble over to it, holding my damaged leg where the car hit me. "Aw, no, no, _no_!" There's a long crack running from end to end. It's busted. And I can never afford to fix it.

"Hey, you okay?"

I look up to see a Pred about my age standing next to me.

There's the urge to run, but I can't with my leg the way it is. I pick up the jetboard. "Fine," I mumble. "I'll be fine." I'm not fine. Everything's ruined. 

"You don't look so fine. And aw, your jetboard…"

I notice that he's holding one under his arm. I want it. I wonder for a moment if I could steal it.

"Hey, listen…my dad fixes jetboards. I'll bet he could fix that."

"Yeah?" My hopes soar for a moment, then fall flat again. "I don't have any creds, though."

The guy shrugs. "Whatever. I'll tell him it's for a friend or something. I saw the way you were moving on it…you were pushing it faster than that model is supposed to be able to go. I'd say you're pretty glitched to be going that fast around here, but maybe you can show me how at the park?"

"I guess." I stagger suddenly as the hunger hits again. I'm desperate. "Listen, do you have any energon? Or at least some spare creds?"

He hands me a piece of energon. "Here. You look like you need it after all this. Oh, I'm Grid."

I'm suddenly embarrassed that I don't have a name yet. At my age, you should have been named by parents or have chosen one. I try to avoid the subject as I quickly consume the energon. "Hey."

He looks at me like he's expecting more. He's not going to get it. I'll get a name when I figure things out. 

"Anyway, you wanna head over to my dad's workshop now? Or maybe you wanna go home and get repaired first?"

"Home? Uh…no." I'm embarrassed again. No way am I telling anyone about the way I live. "Self-repairs should fix it pretty soon. We can go get the board fixed." That's a straight lie. I haven't had a self-repair upgrade since I was in the orphanage. The program works so slowly that I'll probably have to fix my leg myself when I get home.

He looks down at my damaged leg, and then shrugs. "Okay." He starts walking, and I limp after him. 

Well, this is working out pretty good. I survived that accident, and here's a guy willing to do stuff for me for free. Okay, for a small jetboard lesson. Easy. It's not like I like him—he kind of sounds like a wimp—but that doesn't matter. I can use him. He probably knows how to get into competitions, where I can get good board upgrades…and he looks like he always has some creds. I have to stop myself from eyeing his hip compartment. No, get the board fixed first.

I stare at the crack in my board and my thoughts wander back to the accident. I really, really should have been killed there. Talk about some lucky coincidence with the way the board hit the vehicle. Why'd I get out of that one?

I suddenly remember my last thought right before the vehicle swerved. I'd thought that that weird dream prophecy was about to be proved wrong.

But it wasn't. I'm still here. The prophecy is still standing. As long as I'm still alive, it can still come true later. Did it stop me from being killed? Does it really have that much power?

It can't. That's just weird. It was just a coincidence. If the same thing were to happen again, I'd be killed. Right? I mean, the prophecy can't keep me alive through everything. 

Except it did. Something did, anyway. The accident, and those guys chasing me yesterday…I got through both because I somehow got lucky.

Oh, no way. There's gotta be a way around this. I mean, there are plenty of things that could happen, and I don't plan to meet up with that Maximal again.

I'm gonna get this board up to speeds people have never seen before.

*

_"Reply received.__"_

"Let's see it. End Targeting Program." Risk waited a moment for the computer to decrypt the message, then read it. He smirked. "I figured he wouldn't change his mind, even with the extra fee. Nobody wants to settle for second best."

Risk set down his practice gun and checked his real one, making sure it was loaded and functioning. "Well, may as well get this over with and just get the money."

_"Command?__"___

Risk stepped towards the doorway. "What's it like out there?"

_"No movement for seven hundred meters in all directions.__"_

"Good. I'm going out."

_"Auto-security functions enabled. Dropping shields.__"_

Risk exited quickly through the holographic wall and climbed up into the warehouse. As always, his computer left him exactly one cycle to get clear of the building before enabling the shields once more. Staying in the shadows, Risk opened the link to his ship. "Meet me, Location one-four."

Risk made his way through the darkened, empty streets of the mostly abandoned industrial sector. The few street bots who lived around there paid him no heed, and as always he avoided eye contact with any of them. Not that any of them ever really looked up; they all seemed to simply wallow in their dreary existence. Risk had seen the same ones around for stellar cycles. They had never been able to pull themselves out of the gutter as he had done. No ambition, no drive.

Something moved near him and he whirled, catching the arm of a small bot who had been reaching for one of his compartments. The kid looked surprised, then frightened for a moment before finally settling his features into an expression of defiance that Risk knew well. 

"You looking for trouble, kid?" Risk noted the tarnished Predacon symbol on the kid's shoulder.

"Hey, lemme go!" The kid tries to jerk his arm away. "I didn't do nothin'!"

"You were trying to lift my creds." The dim streetlight glinted on the silver edge of Risk's targeting eye, and he noticed the kid staring at it and his weapons.

"So?"

A slight smirk attempted to show itself on Risk's face. This kid definitely had nerve--the last one Risk had caught trying to steal from him had started sobbing upon getting a good look at his eye and weapons. 

Risk let him go. "So trying isn't good enough." He opened a compartment and flipped ten credits towards the young bot. "Don't get caught next time."

Wholly dumbfounded, the kid caught the credits and stared at Risk a moment before running off. Risk watched him disappear back into the shadows before continuing on his way.

His jet was waiting for him on top of a two-story warehouse. Risk did a quick check to make sure that no one was watching, then fired a line to the roof and rappelled upwards. "Open," he said quietly, and the cockpit obeyed his command. Risk settled into the jet and took off, heading for the apartment building that housed his target.

*

_**Seven stellar cycles ago**_

"Dear Primus, did you see that crash?"

"There's no way he could have survived that!"

Ow.

"Holy slag, he _is _still alive! Call for a repair team! Hurry!"

Yeah. Still alive.

Slaggit.

"Kid, can you hear me? We're going to try and stabilize your systems until we can get you to the repair bay."

Yeah. You do that. And in the meantime, don't call me "kid". I've been on my own for two stellar cycles already.

I wait for internal diagnostics reports, but they're not coming. I must have damaged those systems too. I try to move, but nothing seems to be working. I…think I'm in pieces. Yeah, it _is _as painful as it sounds.

They're moving me. I think. My optics are damaged, so I'm not really sure. My auditory sensors seem to be functioning perfectly, though.

"It's incredible that he's still alive. I've never seen anyone survive a jetboard crash at that speed!"

"You hear that, kid? You are _unbelievably _lucky!"

Lucky. Right. That's what I am. It's just dumb luck that I always survive. I'd laugh if I could, but I only manage a small groan.

Different voices now. Must be the repair team. "He's conscious. Kid, can you tell me your name?"

Conscious, yeah. I always am. I think it's fate's idea of a sick joke. I don't get to die, but I always get to feel what it's like to live through trying. 

"It's all right, I recognize this kid. We have to pick him up nearly every other decacycle. Kid's got a death wish or something; always pulling some dangerous stunt or another. He calls himself Risk."

A death wish? Nah…just another test. And another failure. That slaggin' prophecy still won't let me die before my time, even in an accident. Okay, so I'm not as careful as I should be. Why bother, when you know you'll always survive?

"Did you get all the pieces?" His voice is quiet, but I can still hear him. I wonder vaguely how many pieces my body is in. Not that it matters, as long as my Spark keeps on pulsing. And fate will make sure of that.

It's not fair. If life and survival can be a matter of will, why can't death? I just want to know that _I__'m _in control of my life, not some stupid prophecy. I want to prove that stupid thing wrong, just to say that I _could _die…if I wanted to.

I groan again. It hurts too much to think any more. This has to be the worst accident I've had yet.

"Okay, Risk, we're going to manually put you in repair mode so we can begin. You won't feel a thing, and we'll bring you back online for recovery."

Yes. Please. Let me pretend I'm dead for a while.

Things begin to slow down, and my thoughts become hazy. The voices start to sound far away. "Think he's learned his lesson this time? Those extreme sports are so dangerous…"

Not dangerous enough…

*

Risk set his jet down carefully on the roof of the adjacent building, keeping it cloaked. This was a fairly low-cost residential area, and it was unlikely that there would be anyone around with the ability to see through the cloak. He opened the cockpit, climbed out silently and went to the edge of the roof, checking his gun as he walked. The gun itself was low-tech, little more than what a street bot might have. 

"Eighteenth floor, west end," he murmured to himself, concentrating on that level of the apartment building across the street. He accessed the computer's building map and counted the windows, his eyes settling on the one belonging to apartment 18202. The window was dark. "Perfect."

Risk scanned the distance between the buildings, obviously too far to jump safely. He backed up to the far side of the roof and transformed. The tires of his motorcycle mode squealed as he revved his engine and then took off across the roof, building speed as he neared the edge.

The jump was accomplished easily, and Risk landed fairly smoothly on the roof of the apartment building, transforming back to robot mode all in one swift motion. Picking the lock on the access door was simple, finished in fewer than ten millicycles. Risk entered the building and took the stairs down to the eighteenth floor. 

There was no one in the hallway as Risk made his way to the apartment. "Scanner," he said quietly, and his targeting eye switched modes, letting him see through the door and walls of the apartment. There was no one home.

The door was keycode and passcard access, but Risk had it open in only a little longer than it had taken to open the roof door. He entered the apartment and closed the door behind him. The place was fairly average, with nothing that Risk would consider stealing. He checked the time and sighed. "Time to get this show on the road, I guess," he murmured. He began opening drawers and cabinets all over the apartment, throwing their contents onto the floor and pocketing any small thing that looked like it might have some value. When he was finished, he stood back to admire his handiwork. Sure enough, the apartment looked like it had been ransacked by a burglar looking for valuables. The few items Risk had pocketed would further that assumption, although he neither wanted nor intended to keep them. All part of the show.

Finished that part, Risk had nothing to do but wait until the target arrived. He sat down in the bedroom and couldn't help noticing a photo of the target and a fem sitting near the bed. His eyes narrowed and he reached over and slammed the photo facedown.

The door beeped as it accepted the passcard, and Risk hurriedly moved into position just out of sight of the entrance. The target entered, closed the door behind him, and flipped on the light. There was a gasp as the bot saw the chaos of his apartment. Risk peeked around the corner for a moment, double-checking the description and letting his targeting program confirm it. He made a face at the small message that popped up along with the description. "Can't wait to delete _this _record," he muttered angrily as he stepped into view.

Another gasp. "What are you—"

Risk didn't give the bot time to answer before he fired, hitting the bot once in the chest just to the right of the Spark, and then once dead-on. The bot slumped to the floor, optics going dark as his Spark faded. 

Risk holstered his gun, scowling as he stared at the laser burn from his first shot. "Primus, I hate pretending to miss," he grumbled. He bent down and opened the bot's hip compartments, taking any credits he had on him. Then he rose, opened the door, and exited the room as if nothing had happened.

His internal computer stated a proximity alert, and Risk hurried towards the stairwell, looking back once as he rounded the corner to see a fem stopping in front of the apartment he had just come from. He was at the door to the stairwell when he heard her high-pitched scream, broken by a sob. "Must be the contact's cheating fem…" he murmured to himself as he raced up the stairs. His expression suddenly twisted. "Slaggit, get this out of my head _now_! Computer, job is complete. Delete mission specs! Delete them now!"

The computer complied, and Risk exited the building onto the roof. He picked up speed, transforming without breaking stride and making the jump across the alleyway to the adjacent rooftop. The landing was not as smooth as the previous one, and Risk had to fight to keep control of it and himself before transforming back to robot mode. Although the details of the personal motivations behind the job had been purged, his expression showed that the anger had not. "Open," he ordered his jet, and quickly jumped in and closed the cockpit. He sat there for a few moments, seething. "Never wanted to know it in the first place!" he blurted suddenly, slamming a fist against the window of the cockpit.

_"Attention—police vehicles approaching."_

The computer's voice snapped Risk's attention back to the situation. In a moment his expression was cold once more. He cloaked the jet and took off, heading off in a direction opposite from home as always, in case of pursuit.

*

_**Six stellar cycles ago**_

"So you wanna do _what_?"

"Assassin."

"Why?"

"Why not? Can you think of any other job like it? It's dangerous, it takes skill…and it's profitable." I grin just thinking about it. "Besides, this whole extreme sports thing just doesn't do it for me any more." I put my arm around the fem beside me and she smiles back. I know she's impressed. I can't seem to remember her name, though…oh, well. Not like it matters. I doubt I'll see her again after tonight anyway, just like all those other fems.

Grid just stares back at me. "What, not enough of a thrill any more? I mean, you survived some of the nastiest crashes on record. And you want something even _more _dangerous? I like living on the edge as much as the next Pred, but…"

"Well, I'm not just any Pred, now, am I?" I have to speak louder as the music in the club picks up. "You know it. Practically immortal, remember?" I try to add that last part flippantly, but I can hear the contempt in my own voice.

"C'mon, buddy, you're not even seventeen yet. You really sure you want to get into something like that? Why don't you just try to join security forces or something?"

Don't call me "buddy". You're as much a suck-up as any of the kids from the orphanage.

I roll my eyes. "Because you have to have gone to school for that? And following orders like a drone just isn't my style. I work solo, and I don't like anyone else trying to tell me how to run my life. Besides…"—I smirk and open one of my leg compartments slightly—"I spent nearly everything I had on this, and I'm gonna put it to good use."

It's funny how Grid's eyes go wide when he sees the gun. The fem looks even more impressed. She's the type who likes hanging around the "dangerous" guys, obviously. Just looking for a thrill. Works for me. 

Grid looks like he's going through a core processor malfunction. "Risk, I can't believe you brought that in here! It's bad enough that you're underage and you sneaked in. If the Maximals catch you…" He's dropped his voice now to a level just barely audible above the music.

Wimp. I've always thought so. If he didn't have credits I could borrow in a pinch and easy access to the best jetboarding stuff, I'm sure I wouldn't even speak to him. He's always willing to settle for second best because he won't take enough chances.

I close the compartment. "For somebody who calls himself a daredevil, you're pretty tame."

"I'd rather not get a criminal record! It's hard enough for a Pred to get a job!"

"Oh, quit worrying. It's _mine_, not yours. You can stay cozy and safe and get some dead-end job. Me, I'm gonna become the best. And once I get established and earn some creds, I'm even gonna get me a good transformation. Maybe a motorcycle." Yeah, I like the sound of that.

The fem seems to think so, anyway. She leans over and whispers to me. She's hanging all over me now…not that I'm complaining. I wonder if Grid is jealous at all…he never gets girls like I do.

"You're glitched, Risk…you're gonna get yourself killed."

That's sort of the point, slag-for-brains.

"…Or I can live just barely off the streets for the rest of my life. I never went to school after the orphanage, so I missed most of that Maximal 'education'. Oh, and that's another thing…'orphanage escapee' will look really good on my resume when I apply for a job, won't it? And don't think they wouldn't find out about that…Maximals check _everything_ about any Pred who applies for anything."

"Well, don't expect me to bail you out when you get in trouble."

I never did. Primus, people like him are annoying. I don't need anybody to take care of me. Ever.

"Well, when I'm filthy rich and all of Cybertron knows the name Risk, you can think about how wrong you were." I turn to the fem. "So…you wanna hit one of the back rooms?"

She smiles. "Sounds like a good time."

I get up from the table, leading her by the arm. Grid is just shaking his head at me. Let him. "So long, Grid." I pat him on the shoulder as I go by. "Let me know if you want your future boss taken care of or something."

He gives me a somewhat dirty look and refuses to reply. Whatever. I really don't think I'll be seeing him or my other sports acquaintances much after this night anyway. I've got a career to launch. 

The fem and I enter one of the very dimly lit back rooms. I still don't know her name.

*

Risk landed his jet silently on top of the warehouse and jumped out. "Go home," he told it as he turned away, not even bothering to watch it take off. He jumped down from the roof, landing lightly, and began making his way back to his base, keeping a wary eye open for possible pursuers. There seemed to be none. Once again, he'd gotten away cleanly. "Too easy," he muttered sulkily. "That's the last time I do a civilian job. No challenge, no thrill, no way."

He walked on, passing the street bots that lay around. He ignored them, instead taking the small items he'd stolen from his compartments and inspecting them. "Useless junk," he said. "What do I need with scrap like this?"

Without looking down, he dropped a fairly expensive-looking timepiece in front of a metal crate that was the home of a street bot as he passed. Out of the corner of his eye, Risk saw a grimy Predacon kid watching him from the other side of the street. Risk nonchalantly tossed some of the dead bot's credits in the kid's direction and continued on, at points dropping all the stolen objects and credits. He never looked back to see various street kids rush out from their hiding places to pick them up. 

As he neared his base, he double-checked to make sure that he hadn't been followed and opened the link to his computer. "Perimeter report."

_"Unit Risk. No other movement."_

Risk entered the building, dropped through the trapdoor and passed through the holographic wall. He hung up the gun he'd used and once more took up his practice gun, taking a shot at one of the targets on the wall. "Computer, send confirmation to Mission four-zero-nine-one Contact: Mission Complete. Include details for drop-off of funds. High-level encryption and reroute signal."

_"Acknowledged."_

"And get me some television. That stupid job was nothing, and I'm bored."

_"Acknowledged." _ The computer paused for a moment as it redirected signals to mask its location. The screen flickered on, picking up a random channel. The late news was on, and the reporter was standing outside the apartment building Risk had just come from. 

"…was murdered in his apartment tonight, apparently the victim of a burglary gone wrong. Police speculate that he surprised a burglar in the act, who shot him before escaping with some credits and small valuables. However, rumours are already swirling that this may have been more than a simple burglary attempt, as Taze has been romantically linked to the fem of millionaire—"

"Change the channel," Risk ordered, scowling. "I just got _rid_ of the stupid personal information for that."

The computer complied instantly, switching to an espionage movie. Annoyed and no longer interested, Risk flopped down on his bed. "Nah, just turn it off. Boring stuff." The computer screen went dark, and Risk fished out his holo-comic from under his bed and turned it to where he'd left off. He was just getting settled when his computer beeped.

_"One new message."_

Risk set down his comic with a slight huff of irritation. "Already? Decrypt and display." He got up and went to the screen, growing more furious as he read. "My fault? _My _fault? Computer, this guy must still be online right now. Locate him and give me direct voice contact on a secure channel."

_"Acknowledged. Location confirmed. Channel open."_

"All right, listen up," Risk said angrily.

"Who is this?" The voice sounded as accusing as the message had been.

"You know who this is. Now, you listen—I did the job, and I did it how you wanted. He's been terminated, and it looks like a burglary. Those stupid rumours are _your _problem."

"There should have been no doubt as to what happened! Now the media has already started to put things together!"

"Hey, you let the public know about your personal life, this is what happens. Your life, your problem. _You_ wanted this done. Now you pay up, or I come and take it out of your skidplate—and you know I never miss. Clear?"

"Clear." The voice was tight with repressed anger. "The funds will be transferred within the megacycle."

"Good. Now don't ever contact me again or I'll make sure your message gets rerouted to the police." Risk ended the communication. "Junkpile reject," he growled.

_"Command?"_

Risk paced the floor angrily. "He has the bearings to blame _me _because they might figure out he had a part in it? To the Inferno with the fee, I should have rerouted that conversation to the police comms! Just another one on the pile for me, but it'd serve that piece of scrap right!" He fired at another target, and kept doing so until his fury eased somewhat. 

Drained, he finally put up his gun, once more in control. "But no idiot's gonna make me slag my reputation." His voice was steady and calm. "No more personal jobs. Computer, scan all incoming messages from now on and flag for anything suggesting civilian dispute."

_"Acknowledged."_

Risk sighed tiredly and opened a sliding compartment on the wall. He selected an energon cube and attached his feeder tubes to it as he lay down on his bed. "I'll do that other job night after tomorrow. Keep it quiet out there…I'm going to sleep."

_"Acknowledged. 'Sleep' alarm set: nine megacycles. High alert set." _ The computer went into silent mode.

Again Risk opened his holo-comic, but it wasn't long before his optics went dark and the comic fell to the floor along with the empty energon cube.

*

_**Five stellar cycles ago*_

I can do this. No problem.

Okay, so this one is gonna be harder to do than those easy jobs I've been pulling for gang members, but I have to start moving up in the world, right? I'm sick of catering to those lowlives for the little bit of creds they pay me. I'm not interested in furthering their little wars any more. Maximals against Preds, Preds against Preds…who cares? The one good thing is that it did get my name out there…but this job is gonna _make_ my name if I can do it right.

That, and make me rich enough to get a better place and upgrade my computer and myself. I have to get some better equipment if I'm really going to go anywhere in this business.

I still can barely believe I'm about to do this. Since when do polished rich-looking bots approach someone like me on the street to do work for them? He said he'd heard about me and that he knew I could get the job done. He wouldn't say who he was, but I have a pretty good idea. When you live on the streets, you know who owns them—and it isn't those lowlife gang members. That guy isn't the top, but I figure he's pretty high up. None of the street bots that knew anything would even get close to this guy.

This is a good spot, I think. Clear shot at the doorway, plus a pretty clean escape route. It doesn't matter how important he is. He can die from a well-placed shot to the Spark or core processor just as easily as any punk on the street.

Right, I'm not nervous. I've taken out more dangerous guys than this in the gang wars. But then again, the police didn't care. The _government _didn't care. This is some high-level slag I'm messing with.

The police have most of this area cordoned off, and they haven't been letting anyone in without the proper authorization for over a day now. Maybe they'll wonder later how someone like me was able to get in past the security they set up. Simple enough, when you hide out in the building two days early. Stupid police should think to make sure everyone is _out _too. 

Here he comes.

He's got a police escort. That doesn't matter…they'll never see this coming. I aim carefully through the scope on my rifle, targeting the guy's head, right on his Maximal insignia. I feel like I've been training all this time just for this moment.

I fire.

He falls, and the police immediately surround him. Too late for them to do anything for him, though. I quickly disconnect the scope from my gun and put both into their holsters. The police are already shouting and pointing in this direction…time to get out of here. Now the hard part begins…half of this job is escaping alive so that you can collect your fee.

I know the police are already making their way into this building, so escaping through the front door is definitely out. I'm on the seventh floor, so there's no way I can jump out the window without damaging myself. But I knew all this already. That's why I used the cash advance I was given to get a couple of things I needed.              

I race down the empty hallway to the other end of the building and pull a detonator from one of my compartments. The charge is barely above the level of a kids' smoke bomb, but it'll do. I press the button, and it blows. 

Well, "pops" is more like it. If it works, it should cause the small stack of furniture I'd made next to a window in the far corner one level down to fall over. I listen for the sound, then break the window next to me at the same time. The police should be below that level—they'll hear that glass break instead and think it's me. Simple, but effective. If it hadn't worked, they'd be here by now.

A quick look around shows that the police haven't surrounded the building yet. This side is still clear, and the next building over is dark and empty. I take another new toy from a compartment, aim, and fire a line across to the building. Then I jump.

I didn't do this right. I realize as I'm swinging that the line is too long, and I'm not gonna hit where I thought I would. I go crashing through the window one level lower than expected, hitting the frame as I do so. The impact rips off part of my shoulder plating. The wiring underneath sparks painfully, but there's no time to think about that now. I get up as quickly as I can and start running for the stairs, suddenly realizing that something is nagging at me. There had been a shadow moving in that window that I should have hit. _Someone_ had been in there. 

Except nobody was supposed to be. All these buildings were supposed to be clear at this time. Maybe it was just my imagination or something…but imagination normally doesn't leave you with that bad feeling that something's really, _really _wrong.

I enter the stairwell, jump onto the railing and slide down. As I'm doing that, I can hear something else…footsteps. Hurrying down the stairs.

It wasn't my imagination. Someone was expecting me.

When I get halfway between the second and third levels, I vault the railing and jump down the rest of the way. Whoever's behind me hasn't given up—I can hear him coming closer. He's being quiet, but when you've been living the past few stellar cycles on the streets, you know when you're being followed.  And by my guess, it's no cop.      

I exit that stairway at ground level in a slight panic. I know my little distraction won't hold the cops, and whoever's chasing me has thrown off my original escape plan. I look towards the nearest exit, but I can already see police moving out there. Slag. Slag, slag, slag. I'm in trouble. Come on, think. Think fast.

Across the hallway, there's a door marked "Sub-Level". I bolt for it and am barely through it before I hear the guy come out of the stairs. There's no way he didn't notice this door closing. My shoulder suddenly sparks loudly, and that doesn't help either. I race down the stairs to the sub-level, flicking on my basic night vision in the near-pitch darkness. I know the guy'll do the same, and he'll be able to find me no matter where I try to hide down here. The occasional sparks from my shoulder will light up any heat-sensors easily.

Not that there are a lot of places to hide in the first place. The sub-level is just one big room with a large fan at one end. Its blades are moving fairly slowly, but not slow enough to make an easy jump through them to escape into the cooling tunnel system. There has to be some way I can distract the guy so I can get the jump on him. My shoulder sparks again, reminding me once more that I'm a bright flashing target in night vision.

Well, maybe I can give him another target. I clench my jaw, knowing this is gonna hurt.

He's inside now, coming down the stairs carefully. I pull out my gun, noting that it's nothing compared to the one in his hand. Definitely no cop. As soon as he looks in my direction, I'm scrap. But hopefully he won't.

Damaged wiring suddenly sparks, and he whirls and fires straight at it. He hits it dead on.

I take that exact moment to fire at him. The shot hits him square in the head, and he topples down the final five stairs, his gun flying from his hand. He doesn't move, and I cautiously make my way over to him, keeping my gun carefully trained on his head. Over to my right, a small fire is burning itself out on the floor. He nearly vaped that wiring. My shoulder hurts even more after having that chunk of wiring ripped out, but it worked. 

Good thing, too…that was the quickest shot I've ever seen. I'd have been dead in a nano if that sparking wiring had been attached to me. I step closer to him, wanting to make sure he's offline. His gun is lying a couple of meters from him, and I want it. As I pass close to him, the dim glow of the small fire gives just enough light to see the smoking black spot on the back of his head and his dark optics. I smirk. Hah. Got him. That's what he gets for trying to kill _me_. Stupid Maximal…hey, wait a cycle.

I take a closer look at the Maximal insignia on his head. Half of it has been burnt away by my shot, and underneath it there's a Predacon one. My jaw drops. He's Predacon. And he's got that same polished look as the guy who approached me.

No way. No _way_.

Anger builds in me. They're not gonna get away with this. I step past him, my eye on that gun. It's more high-tech and obviously more powerful than the one I've got. And now it's mine.

A hand suddenly closes around my lower leg and pulls it out from under me. I can't help crying out in surprise as I hit the ground hard, dropping my gun. "You're going to pay for that, you little punk," a voice growls.

I swear that all my systems freeze for a few millicycles. I twist around to see the other assassin, online and seething with rage. My eyes go wide and my jaw drops. Oh, slag. His helmet must have shielding…my gun wasn't powerful enough to get all the way through. 

I am in deep, deep slag.       

I try to kick my leg loose and crawl away. "Let go of me!"

"You really thought you could kill me that easily? I think you need a lesson, kid." He wrenches my leg, pulling me back so he can reach me easier. My gun is well out of reach now, and this guy is bigger and stronger than me. I can't remember the last time I was this scared. I must look it too, because the guy starts to laugh.

"What's the matter, punk? Not ready for the big time? Let me show you what happens when you try to play with the big bots." The first punch snaps my head to the side, making me see static for a moment. Before I can recover, the bot grabs my chin, forcing me to face him as he raises his fist again with a smirk. He starts hitting me again and again, easily blocking any attempt I make to fight back. 

"Slaggin' scrapheap…lemme go!" I try to roll or crawl away, but he keeps pulling me back and hitting me even harder, denting my face and chest. When I throw up my arms to try and protect myself, he just knocks them away and keeps at it. I start cursing, calling him every name I've ever learned on the streets.

"You've got quite a mouth on you, kid," he sneers as he slams my head against the floor. "Too bad there's no processor connected to it."

My internal computer starts giving me damage reports, and it's getting hard to keep my thoughts straight. The computer suggests a shutdown before my processor gets damaged, but I fight against that. Still, I don't know how much longer I can stay online. I feel like every system is getting rattled.

Finally he lets up. "Hope you got the message, kid. It's something you can take with you to the Inferno." He reaches for one of his compartments. 

"No…" Primus, he's gonna kill me! I try one more time to get away, but he grabs my damaged shoulder and holds me there, his fingers digging into the bare circuitry. I can't help letting out a small cry of pain. That _hurts_! Slag, I'm in so much trouble, I'm in so much trouble…

My hands search for anything I can use to protect myself as he pulls out an energon switchblade. Panic's rising again…there's nothing, I have nothing! 

Wait…my fingers close around my rifle scope, which has fallen half out of its holster. The guy flicks on the switchblade, and raises it to strike. One chance. With a growl I bring the scope up and drive it as deep as I can into his optic.

He roars in pain and lets go of me to clutch at the scope sticking out of his sparking optic. I quickly scramble away, barely avoiding the energon blade as he brings it down, and lunge for his gun. By the time I grab it and turn towards him, he's already almost on me again. I fire, hitting him point-blank just at the edge of his helmet. For a moment it's like he's frozen, then he collapses limply, his undamaged optic going dark. I know he's dead this time. The hole in his head goes almost all the way through, and I can see that nothing is functioning inside. Got him right in the core processor, just like that Maximal outside. 

I pull my scope out of his optic and put it back in its holster, then just sit there for a few nanos, trying to stop my fluid pump from feeling like it's gonna burst out of my chest. I did it. I'm alive.

And he's not.

Sounds above me force me to remember that I'm not safe yet. The police are moving on the level above. They'll be down here soon. My thoughts race. Not only do I have to get out of here, but I gotta keep them off my tail. I glance around the room, looking for a way out, and my optics land on the large fan. Perfect.

I drag the guy over to the fan and shove him between the rotating blades so that they come down directly on the spot where I shot him. With any luck, that'll throw the cops from thinking that there was anyone else involved, at least long enough for me to get far enough away. The fan blades crush the guy's head and come to a grinding halt when his head gets trapped between the blade and the floor.  I shove my old gun into his holster, yank his comlink off his chest and squeeze between the blades, taking off down the tunnel. As I round the first corner I can hear the police running down the stairs, calling out to each other that they've "got the guy after a failed escape attempt".

Right. Congratulations, scrapheads.

I keep following the tunnel until I'm sure I'm far enough away to be safe. The alley I exit in is thankfully deserted. Just in case anyone tries to track this, I'm not gonna go home to do it.

I activate the comlink. It's direct-linked on a specific channel, just like I figured. "Mission accomplished." I try to keep the anger out of my voice.

There is silence on the other end for a few moments, although I know someone has picked up the transmission. "Who is this?" a voice finally says. Yeah, I recognize that voice.

"It's Risk. Mission accomplished."

Again there is stunned silence. "Risk."

"What, you didn't think I'd be the one to call you?" I continue. "Didn't think I'd survive it, huh?"

"Well done." The voice sounds strained.

"I'm coming for the fee we discussed. You'd better have it, and whatever extra you were paying that other guy to get rid of _me._ Thought you'd be able to cover your tracks by using some 'expendable' street killer, huh? If the police didn't get me, your assassin would have finished the job?" I have to remind myself to stay calm. How _dare_ he try to use me like that? It's taking all my control to not just blow up at him, no matter how important he thinks he is. "You know, I think I'll keep his weapon. I kinda like it."

"Then I take it that my operative is dead?"

"You bet your skidplate. And you'll be dead too if you're thinking of trying to rip me off again. I did the job, and I want my money."

"I understand." I just _know _he's smirking as he says that. "Well, you've certainly exceeded expectations, Risk."

"Yeah. I figure they weren't _your _expectations, either. You're not top bot. So why don't you pass on the message to your boss. I'm good, and I don't die easy. Next time anyone tries anything like this with me, I'll do something about it…starting with the flunkies he sends to contact me, and finishing with him."

The guy laughs. "You've got bearings of chrome steel, I'll give you that." He pauses, and I get the feeling he's talking to someone else. When he speaks again, he's all business. "An account has been created for you at Cybertropolis First Bank. Passcode is P-S-one-four-two-triple-zero. I believe you'll find the amount satisfactory."

"I'd better." My shoulder sparks again, and I hope that he didn't hear that. Slaggin' thing is really hurting now, and I'm losing motor control in that arm. Not to mention the damage from the beating, which is making some of the systems in my head complain. I have to work at keeping my voice steady. "And there'd better not be any surprises waiting for me when I access it."

"Of course not." He clears his throat. "I've been authorized to offer you a position with us. We seem to be down one operative, and your services could be put to good use."

A job? I've been offered a job by the guy who pretty well runs the streets in these parts? I'm stunned, and can barely think to open my mouth. I never thought I'd go this far. 

No, wait…I _did. _I _am_ that good. People are gonna know my name after this job. Why work for only one guy? Why limit myself to someone else's orders when I can work for the highest bidder?

"Well?"

"Nah. But tell you what: I'm gonna keep this comlink. You want me to do another job, you know how to reach me."

"You're _refusing _him?" The voice hisses, sounding insulted.

"I'm freelance. You want me, you call."

Another pause. "Acceptable. Have you joined the Guild, then?"

The Assassins' Guild. I'd heard about that. "No, and I don't plan to. I'm freelance, like I said."

"Then since you're still new to this business, one small word of advice: the Guild doesn't like freelancers. I think you'll learn soon enough that it's safer for a non-member to be under someone's employ."

"I'll keep that in mind." For about two nanos.

He catches my tone. "You play a dangerous game."

"Yeah, that's life. Call if you have anything else for me to do. Risk out." I close the comlink before I end up having to listen to any more lecturing, and try to calm my nervousness. I can barely believe I just did that. Talking to that guy that way, turning down the position…what am I doing?

Living on the edge. The thrill of it is more than I could have imagined. I _like _it. 

I make my way towards the nearest bank computer terminal to look up my new account. My eyes widen when the number comes up on the screen.

I'm slaggin' _rich_.

I can upgrade my computer and my body. I can get a transformation. I can buy weapons and get myself somewhere better to set up shop. 

Okay, first I'll get repaired. This damage hurts.

I can't help laughing to myself, though, thinking about Grid and jetboarding. That life could never be anywhere near as lucrative…or as exciting. _This _is how life should be.

I was pretty close to getting killed tonight. Again. Of course I didn't, though. If that line hadn't been too long, I would have landed right in that killer's arms. If I hadn't damaged my shoulder, I wouldn't have been able to make that distraction in the sub-level, and I wouldn't have had a chance. It's always _something._ My impossible luck, every time. That prophecy is still holding. Well, let's just see how far I can push it.

Things can only go up from here.

*


	2. Chapter II

"No! Not agai—" Risk awoke with a start. Panic was imprinted on his face, and it took him a long moment to blink it away. He sighed and sat up, only then hearing the sound of the computer beeping his wake-up call. "Yeah, yeah, I hear it," he grumbled, listening to the whirring of his gears as he stretched. The computer continued beeping. "I said, I'm up!" he shouted.

The computer stopped the alarm abruptly, and Risk put his head in his hands for a moment before finally standing. "Anything new?"

_"One new message."_

"Decrypt and display." Risk read the text. "Oh, _now they tell me. Primus, I hate when people move the deadline on such short notice. Thanks for giving me time to scout the location properly, scrapheads." He sighed. "Fine, tonight it is. So much for a night off." He checked the time. "Okay, six megacycles to go through the simulations and get this right. Guess I'd better get started." He connected his targeting eye to the computer port. "Access saved mission route: Mission four-zero-nine-zero. And send Acknowledgement: message received and understood, mission proceeding."_

_"Acknowledged. Message sent." _The computer pulled up the interior of the Synergy Corporation building, once more placing the virtual guards and security systems into the 3-D map. Risk set up for a run-through, carefully trying to avoid the guards and systems. Still, as the simulation added possible guard reactions, he ended up having to shoot his way out. 

"End simulation. Guard casualties?"

_"Five offline, two damaged."_

A slight growl escaped him. "Stupid interference. They get in the way, they're gonna end up dead." He shook his head. "If I wanted this much damage done, I'd just throw a slaggin' bomb into the building. Begin again."

The simulation ran again, and Risk tried a slightly different escape route with different maneuvers. It took several more runs before the result was to his satisfaction. 

_"One offline, one damaged."_

"That'll have to do. I can't figure any better route, and I'm running out of time. Save mission plan and download."

_"Acknowledged."_

Risk absorbed the information, storing it in his personal memory for easy access. "Here's hoping those guards actually react the way they're supposed to," he murmured as he disconnected. He grabbed one of his best guns and a distance scope, loaded the gun, and attached them both to his holsters.  "What's it like out there?"

_"No movement for six hundred fifty meters in all directions.__"_

"I'm going out."

_"Auto-security functions enabled. Dropping shields.__"_

Risk exited the building and again contacted his jet to meet him. This time the street bots he passed were mostly asleep, and Risk kept his focus completely on the mission. When his jet picked him up, his features were set in icy concentration.

As they reached the edge of Cybertropolis, Risk finally broke his silence as he connected himself to the jet's console. "Upload mission parameters and maps. Drop-off in one cycle. Cloak and return to Safe Zone for exactly one-point-seven-eight megacycles, then return to specified hover location and await pick-up command."

Once the jet's computer had copied the information, Risk unstrapped himself from his seat and prepared for drop-off. The jet swooped low over a rooftop and came almost to a dead standstill as Risk opened the cockpit and jumped out. He had barely touched the ground before it closed the cockpit and took off.

Risk looked around carefully to make sure no one had noticed his landing, then fired a silent line to the next rooftop and began hopping the buildings for the last few blocks to Synergy Corporation.

*

_***Three stellar cycles ago***_

I've got him. 

This is gonna be so much easier than I thought! This guy isn't afraid to be out in the open or anything. This may be a fairly deserted part of the city, but he's just standing on the street like any ordinary bot. In fact, he's even bragging to some other Predacon about one of his latest kills. He thinks he's so good that nobody would dare come after him. Well, that and he thinks he's protected by the Guild crest on his shoulder.

I don't have one of those.

Not that I haven't had a load of chances to get one. I've been getting the messages more and more often for nearly a stellar cycle now. 

The first ones sounded polite: _"Your reputation has come to our attention. We respectfully request that you contact us and apply for membership. We feel that your services will be of great use, and you will receive benefits."_

Right. I "respectfully" deleted that message, along with most of the others that followed. Okay, so I said "no" to a couple of them, and sent a "kiss my skidplate" to another when I was in a bad mood that day, but they just kept coming. Why can't they get the picture? I don't _want to join the Guild! I suppose I should be flattered, because they do have standards in choosing who they ask to join. Only the best, Maximal or Predacon. But I've learned some stuff about them, and I don't like the way they work. If I joined, I'd only get to do the jobs they hand me, and they get a percentage. Are those the "benefits"? Why would anyone want to join?_

I guess to stop getting messages like the one I got yesterday: _"No assassin may operate outside the boundaries set by the Guild. Reconsider our invitation. You have been warned."_

The more jobs I did, the more threatening these messages got. I've changed my contact information loads of times since then. How do they keep finding me? And in some messages they've hinted at my reputation for immortality. I don't like that. 

Okay, so I know it's no secret. People find out that I get out of the most impossible situations and always survive to take the next job. But when those guys mention it, it makes me nervous. I'm not sure I want to know what they're thinking or how that particular skill would be "of use" to them.

So I'm not joining. I deleted the message.

The next message was more like it:

_"I need your help. My brother was assassinated three decacycles ago, and I want him avenged. However, the assassin responsible belongs to the Assassins' Guild. It seems that nearly every other assassin is also a member, and no one affiliated with that organization will turn on one of their own. Even those under the employ of others will not touch a Guild member. I've heard that you are freelance, and good enough to get the job done. Money is no object."_

I liked that last part. If I'd joined the Guild and was stuck following their glitched rules, I'd have had to ignore this job. Well, no way. And just thinking about what taking out one of theirs would do for my reputation…well, let's just say people like that guy who hired me for this job would come to me _first_, before going to the Guild or anyone else.

I recognized the name of the other assassin—he definitely belongs to the Guild, and he's pretty good, too. Still, I can do it. I've never failed a job yet.

So here I am, with the guy dead in my sights. He thinks because he's part of the Guild, he's untouchable. Luckily, I don't play by their rules. I'm about to make myself a pile of money, and teach those scrapheaps that being a Guild member isn't all it's cracked up to be.

I'm just squeezing the trigger when he suddenly looks up, zeroing in on my position exactly. It's too late for me to stop the shot, which ends up going into the wall behind him as he dodges it.

"Slag," I mutter. I should have known he'd have some kind of detection software in place. I don't have that program because I'm not quite rich enough to buy it yet, but this guy's been in the business longer than me and probably has the best of everything.

And he's fast. I barely have time to get out of the way before he's drawn his weapon and fired at me. Primus, that's a powerful gun…the shot goes through the wall right beside me, across the room and out the other side. Instincts are screaming inside me that I'm out of my league and to just run, but I fight that. I haven't failed a job yet, and I'm not about to start now. The jobs for Chronos or any of his rival syndicates have nothing on this contract…this one is for my personal pride and the leap my reputation is going to take if I succeed.

Okay, so I'm not gonna run. But I sure as the Inferno am going to keep moving. The assassin's shots are just barely missing me as I dodge, running in a zigzag pattern towards the stairs. One grazes my side, but if I stop, I'm dead. I race up to the roof and over to the edge. Sure enough, he's still down there, firing up at me. I figured he'd be too angry to just take off. He's shouting up at me as he aims. "How dare you, you little punk!"

The guy he was talking to is running off, probably trying to get to safety. He's not the target, so I don't care if he gets away. I know that most bots don't want to get caught in the middle of a firefight anyway. I'm one of them. I hate when a job gets messed up like this.

I'm forced to duck and roll away as yet more shots blast apart the edge of the roof. Slag, I'll never get a clear shot this way. I run over to the far side of the roof and transform to my motorcycle mode, then turn and race towards the edge, dodging the shots more easily as I pick up speed. 

I've never done anything like this before, and I hope to Primus I can pull it off. I hit the edge, momentum carrying me through the air. 

"Risk, terrorize!" My mid-air transformation is disorienting for a moment, but I still manage to look down and get off one shot before I'm forced to grab the top of a streetlight to keep from falling four stories to the street below. I hear a loud cry as I swing around the lamppost, and look down to see where I've hit. The assassin is holding his smoking gun hand and cursing loudly. The gun itself is lying on the ground a few meters away.

He looks up at me, pure hate on his face. "You won't get away with this," he growls.

"I _always _get away," I smirk as I pull the trigger. In a nanocycle he's lying on the ground, offline. 

I slide down the lamppost. I did it! Now all I have to do is get back to my base and collect my fee. I can feel my reputation shooting through the roof already. What a rush! I've just taken out one of the Guild!

I race away from the scene, barely able to contain myself. Primus, I can't wait to send the "mission accomplished" message. Once I know I'm safe, I think I'm gonna use the first pay-comm terminal I see. Transforming, I speed through the streets, dodging in and out of traffic and taking shortcuts through narrow alleys. I haven't had this motorcycle mode that long and it nearly broke my bank for a while, but I love it. My old days as a jetboarder helped me catch the balance and maneuvering pretty quickly, and now I can give anyone who tries to follow me a serious run for their money.

I double back along my trail to see if anyone's following me, but I don't see any police or that witness anywhere. I transform back to robot mode and duck into another alley, carefully inspecting the area. Nope, nobody around. I've done it! And who cares if that other guy saw me—I've obviously left him in the dust. Let him spread the word that I took out a Guild member.

There's a pay-comm terminal across the street. My base is still a couple of kilometers from here, and I simply can't wait to let the contact know that I did it. Why not? It's a short message, nobody followed me, and it won't matter if someone traces the signal to a pay-comm. I make sure all my weapons are out of sight in their compartments before crossing the street. No sense calling too much attention to myself.

Once there, I slip in a cred and type the quick message, mentioning where to send the fee I'd decided on. The price is higher than what the crime syndicates pay me for their jobs. Why not ask for more, if money was no object? I've just pressed "send" when a voice behind me makes me startle.

"You've crossed the line, kid."

I whirl around to find myself face to face with two bots that are larger than me. One is the witness from before. Their Guild crests shine on their right shoulders.

Oh, slag. How could I have missed seeing that crest on him before?

They've got me backed up against the pay-comm terminal, and my weapons are all in their compartments. Primus, I'm stupid. Really, really stupid. My thoughts race. "What are you talking about? Who are you?"

"You know who we are and why we're here..._Risk. Not only do you refuse the invitations, but you have the bearings to shoot down a member. Did you think you could keep ahead of us forever?"_

This is bad. I gotta get out of here. "Look, I think you've got the wrong—" Before I finish that sentence I brace myself against the terminal and kick the witness in the chest with both feet. He staggers back a bit, and I flip up onto the terminal, kicking the other bot in the chin as I do so. I spring off the terminal, vaulting over their heads, and hit the ground running as I draw my gun.

But I'm too late. They recover quicker than I thought and something hits me in the back before I can even turn to fire at them. I cry out as I feel the shock race through all my systems. In an instant I'm on the ground, unable to move. Blips of diagnostics keep trying to appear, but that system has been paralyzed along with the rest. I groan and try to move as I hear their footsteps coming closer. 

"Still think you're unstoppable, kid?" I think it's the witness talking, but I can't raise my head to look up and see for sure. "You're about to learn a hard lesson." He's standing right in front of me now. I can see the gun in his hand, but I can't move to do anything about it. I can't even speak.

Oh, slag, he's gonna kill me. Primus, help me…somebody, anybody…help me…

"And this is for offlining Diesel." The last thing I see is his foot about to connect with my head, and then darkness.

*

Risk landed silently on the very edge of the Synergy Corporation building, bringing the information about its security systems to the top of his memory. Using his targeting eye, he superimposed the virtual map of the systems on top of the real building. Invisible trip-lasers now stood out. Risk checked the time, noting that there was only two cycles before a security fly-over would notice him on the rooftop. He carefully began maneuvering around the random laser grid and reached the access door with less than a cycle to spare. A quick connection to his targeting eye allowed him to see the inner workings of the lock and its associated alarms. By the time the security sweep passed overhead, there was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen on the rooftop.

Risk quickly began making his way to his decided setup point. The top floor had no windows on that side that gave him a clear shot at the government building, so he was forced to take the stairs down two flights. He hurried down, gun ready even though he knew that the building's regular staff would have already gone home for the day and the guards weren't scheduled to check there for at least another twenty cycles. Encountering no interference, Risk switched on his scanner to be sure no one was on the other side of the stairwell door before opening it.  

The floor was dark and empty. The name and logo of Synergy Corporation greeted him, printed in large letters on the wall next to him. He stopped and stared at it. "I _know _I've heard that name somewhere before," he murmured as he took a moment to run a quick check through his databanks. Still unable to pinpoint it in any of the few contract records he'd stored, he finally tore his gaze away and returned his attention to the mission.

Risk slipped down the hallway and turned into a specific room, one much like any office building, except that all the computers and other such equipment were covered in alarms. "Yeah, I'll bet they don't want anyone stealing _that_ data," he muttered. He began making his way quietly towards the far window, then suddenly ducked down behind a desk that was surrounded by an electrical field. Risk quickly pulled out a tiny instrument and held it next to the field. The instrument calculated the current and applied a countercurrent, deflecting it enough to make a hole in the field without actually interrupting the flow and setting off the alarm. Risk carefully squeezed through the hole and pressed up against the desk before turning the instrument off. The electrical field closed up behind him.

"Three, two, one, now," he whispered. Sure enough, a guard appeared at the entrance, giving the floor a quick check with both a light and a scanner. Risk stayed perfectly still as the guard swept the room twice, the scanner picking up nothing but the alarms' electric fields. Then the guard was gone and the room was once again in darkness.

Risk waited half a cycle to give the guard sufficient time to get far enough away, then made a hole in the field once again and crawled out. He smirked to himself as he put the disrupter back in one of his compartments. "Nothing 'hotter' than an electric field."

Once at the window, Risk cut a small hole in the glass, avoiding the crisscross trip-lasers that covered most of the pane. He assembled his long-distance rifle and scope, targeting the entrance to the government building across the square through the hole in the glass. "Zoom in," he said, and his targeting eye complied, making the view through the scope crystal clear. Risk mentally checked the time. "Twelve-point-six cycles," he muttered. "He'd better be on time." He stayed perfectly still, waiting for the target to emerge.

*

_***Day One***_

…Where am I…?

Things are a little fuzzy. _System check…__system check…_

My computer doesn't respond, but I can tell now that my optical sensors and motor control are both online, and my systems feel ready.

So why can't I move?

My senses gradually get clearer. I'm lying on my back, staring up at the ceiling.

This isn't my base. Where…?

I suddenly realize why I can't move. I've been pinned down, held at the wrists, shoulders and ankles. 

My eyes go wide as panic sets in. Oh, slag. Oh, _no._

Those guys didn't kill me after all.

Bad situation. Bad, bad, _bad_. I gotta get out of here. I start trying to struggle, but I'm held so tightly I can barely move at all.

The soft _whoosh _of a door opening makes me turn my head. A bot steps into the room, flicking on glaring lights that force my optics to take a moment to automatically adjust themselves.

He walks up to me. "Do you know where you are, boy?"

"N-no…" I can't control the shaking in my voice.

"Oh, of course you do. Where else did you think you would end up? You didn't really think we'd kill you just like that, did you?" He turns away for a moment to slide a control panel closer and I see the crest on his right shoulder.

I gasp. "The Guild…"

"Very good. Welcome to the Cybertropolis chapter. I hear you've been avoiding coming here for quite some time now."

I try struggling again. "Let me go!"

He answers that with a chuckle. "I wouldn't tender any hopes of that, boy." He starts fiddling with buttons and controls on the panel, and that only makes me more nervous.

"My _name _is Risk." Yeah, be angry. Don't be scared. 

"Ah, yes, Risk. The so-called 'immortal'. Yes, we've been keeping tabs on your exploits for a long time. Well, let me tell you something, _boy_. Here, you are _nothing, so get used to it. In fact, if you'd understood that sooner, maybe you wouldn't be in this situation." He flicks a switch and something above my head starts to hum._

Angry. Stay angry. "So, what…you want me to join the Guild? Is this my forced 'invitation'? Is that what this is all about?"

"Oh, we're well beyond that now. As one of my associates told me, you crossed the line, boy. You had your chance to join us, and instead you threw the invitation back in our face and kept on doing whatever you pleased."

He presses a button and enough electricity surges through me to make my systems seize up and my entire body go rigid. The shock doesn't last long, but my sensor circuits feel like they're on fire. 

He keeps talking as if nothing has happened. "You see, we don't tolerate that kind of behaviour. We've made it very obvious that freelance work isn't allowed and that there would be a price for anyone who attempted it. But you refused to listen." He shakes his head. "Kids—you think you can just get away with everything." A smirk. "You all think you're immortal."

I'm still trying to recover from that shock. Are my circuits on fire? I can't tell. _Diagnostic…diagnostic…? _"Diagnostic…"

"Oh, we disabled that and your self-repair programs. Those diagnostic reports can be so distracting, and we'd prefer you kept your attention on the matter at hand. Besides,"—he gives a cruel smile—"we'll put you back together so we can start fresh every day if we have to."

"No, you can't do this! Let me go!" Struggling is still useless, and the next words that come out of my mouth are curses.

He sighs, and another shock stops my rant mid-curse. I can't help struggling harder, even though I still can't budge. "Stop it! Let me up, slaggit…" My voice breaks a bit.

He simply chuckles as he looks down on me, shaking his head slowly. 

I look past him towards the closed door. "Help! Somebody!"

He ignores my frantic call. "So let's bring the conversation back to you and the main reason you're still alive and not in fragments in a dumpster somewhere. Do you know why you're not dead yet?"

What? What kind of question is that? What answer does he want? 

Oh… 

He notices the realization that flashed on my face. "You do know. So answer the question."

I stay silent.

Another shock. My vision flashes in and out, circuits trying to deal with the surge.

Reroute, reroute…send excess energy to power converters and energy storage… 

That's not working, either. My internal computer isn't processing my commands. Primus, they must have disconnected the command receivers too. What do I do? Without those commands my body won't be able to deal with what happens to it except through its initial sensors. And I can't go into repair mode…

Holy slag, I'm gonna feel _everything_.

His tone is still calm. "Answer it."

"Because I can't die," I murmur softly.

"_Very_ good," he replies scornfully. "Now, I find this fascinating. Any fool child in this business would have been killed a long time ago, but not you. No, you somehow manage to survive it all. We're interested in how. What's the secret, boy?"

I don't answer. 

"I don't like to be kept waiting."

I shake my head.

He sighs. "Shall I increase the voltage?"

I can take it. I've been badly damaged before. I can take it…

When that shock ends it doesn't feel finished. Excess energy ripples over my body, sending smaller tingling shocks through my systems as it bleeds off.

"Well? What's the secret to your luck? A special upgrade? A friend in high places? You might as well tell us, boy, because you'll stay right here until we get what we want from you."

My jaw quivers slightly, but I still don't answer. 

"No? All right, then. You know, I don't particularly believe all this slag about 'immortality'. If the others want to think you are, that's fine." He leans closer to me. "I'd prefer to test it."

My eyes go wide. "No! You can't…!"

"Of course I can. You thought we were going to force you to join us? No…we're going to wait for you to _beg_ to join us." 

*

Risk watched carefully through the scope as a couple of bots left the government building. He brought the physical description of the Maximal to the top of his targeting program, but neither of the bots who had exited the building within the last five cycles were the right one. "Come on, come on," Risk muttered impatiently. He checked his clock again, noting that there wasn't much time left until the guard made his next sweep of the room. If the target didn't show soon, he would have to pull back and hide within the electric field again. Even so, the guard would no doubt notice the hole in the window, small as it was, as the air from outside would register on the temperature-sensitive scanner.

Another bot exited the building, waving to someone in the doorway before starting down the stairs. Risk's targeting program beeped, confirming the description. "_Fi_nally," Risk said, keeping absolutely steady as he aimed. The shot was clean, going right through the Maximal's head and out the other side and leaving nothing but a neat black hole. The bot dropped like a stone, tumbling down a few steps. 

Immediately Risk began disassembling his rifle and returning the parts to their respective holsters. Another look out the window showed a security bot rushing out of the government building towards the fallen Maximal. Still zoomed in, Risk could see that the security bot was on his comm, probably calling for the police or emergency repair. Then he suddenly looked towards the Synergy Corporation building. Risk moved back from the window and swore quietly. "Maybe all security bots aren't as dumb as they look," he muttered.

Risk stood and immediately began heading for the main hallway, bringing his selected escape route to the top of his memory and drawing his smaller short-range gun. He stopped just short of entering the hallway, instead staying just out of sight around the corner of the doorway. Right on schedule, he heard the footsteps of the guard approaching for his second sweep.

When the guard got close enough, Risk reached around the corner and grabbed him, pulling him into the dark room. Before the guard could make a sound he was unconscious on the floor, sparking slightly from the damage on his head. 

Risk swiftly made his way down the hallway, gun ready. The simulations had placed at least four more guards between him and the roof, but there were none in view yet. His proximity detectors were silent, and his scanner could see no movement behind the walls. As Risk neared the doorway to the stairwell, his expression betrayed a growing unease. 

Once again the Synergy Corporation logo caught his attention just before he entered the stairwell. A memory seemed to flicker, but was gone before it could be identified. Risk did not hesitate in front of the logo this time before quickly going through the door and starting up the stairs. When he reached the top floor, he stopped and stared up towards the roof. "Scanner."

Sure enough, four guards were on the roof, two holding their positions while the other two moved towards the access door. Risk opened the door to the top floor and ducked inside, running past the logo and down the hallway towards a room with large windows. He could hear the two guards exiting the stairwell and making their way down the hall. Risk hurried into the room, his gun still ready as he half-ran, half-backed towards the windows. Judging by the pace of the footsteps, the first guard would get there before he had time to break the window and escape. He re-checked the simulation results that he had put in memory. If the simulation had run correctly, he would have to kill that first guard to keep the other from following him. He counted the time until the guard would appear in the doorway. "Four, three, two—"

His countdown stopped abruptly as he backed into something that should not have been there.

*

_***Day Four***_

_"Why don't you make it easier on yourself and just tell me, boy? What secret is worth this?"_

_"You…wouldn't believe it…any—argh! …Please…"_

_"I've had enough of hearing the same non-answer over and over. Shall I start on the other hand, or are you ready to talk?"_

_"Please, I—Stop…I-it's because of…"_

I jerk awake suddenly, the memory as fresh in my mind as if it was still happening. I must have passed out…or maybe he left and let me fall asleep? I can barely remember.

I groan slightly as I try to move, feeling the bonds holding me down as always. I feel like I'd give anything just to be able to move again. Except that even that little bit of movement hurts—he put some of me back together after yesterday, but he purposely left the most painful parts alone.

Yesterday…or was it last night? Maybe two days ago now? I don't know how long I've been out this time. My internal clock was one of the things they disabled. All I can do is try to count.

The door opens.

No, no, no, I'm not ready yet…just let me rest a bit more… 

I shut down my optics, making them dark again. Maybe he won't notice, maybe he'll think I'm still out…

"Hey, Deadline. So you're taking this one?"

"For now. Verge is taking the day off, so I get to take over."

The voices are staying just outside the door for now. Still, I'm careful not to move.

"This is the kid who took out Diesel, isn't it?"

"Yeah." The voice sounds angrier now, and I finally recognize it as the witness. "I know this isn't usually my section, but I asked for this one personally."

"I can barely believe that kid's nerve. So I guess you've got some things in mind?"

"Yeah. Verge is the expert, but I got a different style."

The other guy laughs. "This is the one who's supposed to be immortal, isn't it? Have they found out how he manages it?" 

"I heard Verge has been trying to get that out of him since he got here. Apparently yesterday the kid finally decided to answer, but fed him some slag about a dream and a prophecy—that he can only die a certain way or something." He laughs too. "He expects us to believe that? There has to be more to it than mystical nonsense and luck."

I did? I told him? I remember now…I did. But I hadn't meant to. I hadn't wanted to. It was just hurting so much! Primus, I gotta hang on. I can't let that happen again. I don't want to lose control…

"So you're going to keep on that angle, then? See if you can get the real answer?"

"Nah, that's Verge's department. I'm just here to deliver some payback for Diesel. Did you hear his brother got promoted yesterday? The old president retired, so Diesel's brother is now the CEO of Synergy Corporation."

"Another friend in high places, huh? That company makes some great stuff and the law never seems to touch them. Too bad Diesel isn't around to enjoy the benefits."

"Yeah, well, this kid is gonna spend the rest of his sorry 'immortal' life regretting that job. And speaking of which, I have a few megacycles to put in here before I get off."

"See you at The Afterburner later?"

"As always. I'll fill you in on how it went today. Should be good for a laugh, right?"

"Sure. Oh, I heard this great dirty joke in the lounge earlier…"

How can they _do_ this? How can they just stand there talking like this is _nothing? My expression twists, and I have to work to clear it again. How can they just be joking around…_

"Save it. I really have to get to work here."

"Right. Well, if you're late, you're buying." 

One set of footsteps continues on down the hall, while the other enters the room. I hear the swish of the door closing behind him, and focus on staying completely still.

Please just think I'm still out…

"So, kid, how are you feeling today?"

He's standing right over me. Don't move at all, don't even twitch…

My eyes open wide and I scream as something cuts into my shoulder, sending a shower of sparks onto my face.

"The answer is 'ready, sir'. Didn't Verge teach you that already?" He shakes his head scornfully. "And don't bother pretending you're not online. You think we don't know?"

I dare to look at him. It's definitely the witness, the one who brought me here.

"I'm sure you remember me. Name's Deadline. I assume you heard our conversation out there, but I think I'll just make sure it's _clear to you, kid: I'm not Verge. He cares about asking questions." He leans in close, brandishing a cutting laser. "I don't."_

*

Risk gave a small cry of surprise as his back suddenly touched up against the invisible energy web, bringing it to visible life. Instantly he tried to pull away, but he was held fast. The more he struggled, the larger and more powerful the web became. Soon he was completely enclosed in it, his gun hand stuck in a position that prevented him from aiming towards the door. He was nearly helpless.

"What the slag?!" he blurted as he tried to pull free. "Computer, why wasn't this security measure plotted?"

_"Security measure does not exist."_

"Don't slaggin' tell me it doesn't exist! I'm slaggin' caught in it! Why wasn't it downloaded with the rest of the information?"

"Because I made sure it wasn't recorded anywhere. It's brand-new, and all for you." A Maximal taller than Risk stepped into the room, flanked by the two security guards. 

The lights went on, and the guards approached the energy web. One of them reached out to take Risk's gun, and Risk uselessly tried to fire it and jerk it away. The guard simply seized Risk's trapped wrist and wrenched the gun from his hand. 

Risk glowered at the guard. "I'll be getting that back soon," he growled. 

The guard handed the gun to the tall Maximal, who began examining it. "Very nice," he commented.

Risk turned his glare to the Maximal. "So all this was a setup."

"Close. I did actually want that government data-pusher out of the way. He'd found out some things about this corporation and was considering going public with them, and we don't take kindly to scandalmongers. I assume you know what those things were—after all, we let you hack us so you could plan this job." The Maximal stepped closer. "But you're the real prize. It took a long time for me to find you and set this up."

"Who the slag are you, anyway?" Risk glanced all around the room, searching for a way out. The energy web extended across most of the room and he was trapped in its center. More guards were arriving now, and he was down one weapon.

"Oh, of course. We've never met directly, have we?" He mockingly held out his hand toward Risk, who simply glared back. "Damask, CEO of Synergy Corporation."

Risk's eyes suddenly went wide, then his gaze turned inward as if lost in thought or memories. His expression twitched and for a moment panic was plainly visible. Then his optics flashed, and Risk shook his head to clear it. "Slag, you're his…"

"Yes, Diesel's brother. And Deadline was also one of my friends. The picture getting clearer now?"

Risk began to struggle harder. "Let me out of this thing, or you'll regret it."

"I don't think so. As I said, I've spent far too long setting this up. Planning for you to need this building to take your shot, getting one of my own people hired as the main door security guard in the government building, doctoring the files so that you couldn't hack everything…not to mention puzzling out how you'd go about your entry and escape." He smirked. "And it seems we were right. You're more predictable than you thought."

Risk narrowed his eyes. "So you think you know so much about me, huh?"

"Actually, I do. I wasn't going to go into this half-blind. I know all about your incredibly lucky escapes and the 'immortality' that everyone talks about. I researched most of your more high-profile kills, and I know you work for anyone who can meet your price. I also paid good money to a bounty hunter for a copy of your energy signature so we could track you more easily. And,"—he stepped up and looked Risk in the eye—"I have a pretty good idea what happened at the Guild."

Risk raised an eyebrow, but his expression quickly returned to its look of icy anger. "Big deal. A lot of people know what you know."

Damask folded his arms. "And how many of those have actually succeeded in capturing you?"        

Risk smirked. "You haven't 'succeeded'. If you think you know so much about me, then you also know that I _always escape."_

"Maybe, maybe not." Damask cocked the gun and aimed it directly at Risk's forehead. "Unlike the Guild, I don't see a reason to keep you around. You killed Diesel, you Predacon scum, so I'm going to kill _you."_

*

_***Day Nine?***_

I think it's the ninth day. If I'm counting right? I don't know. Primus, I don't know any more. I swear they've been keeping me online for longer each time. How many megacycles has Verge already been at it today?

I don't know how much more of this I can take…where's the prophecy power that's supposed to get me out of trouble?

I know where it is. It's watching and laughing, just like they do.

Deadline was in here last time, laughing at me again.

_"Think you're too good for death, don't you, kid? Well, you know what I think? I think death is too good for **you**. You don't deserve it, so we're not going to let you have it. Do you know how long we can keep you alive here? As long as we slaggin' want to. Forever, if we feel like it. How do you like **that** 'immortality'?"_

Then the mocking. The laughing. Others come in here sometimes to watch what Verge does or sometimes to join in. Laughing while they hurt me, laughing at the freak who can't die and who has to live through everything…                

"Drifting off again?"

Sparks fly again, this time from my knee. 

"Stop…Primus, please stop…" I know this must be the millionth time I've said this. My jaw hurts from clenching it so hard. I don't want to scream again.

Verge sighs. "Are you ready to tell us your secret yet? Your story is completely implausible. You can save yourself some pain if you just tell us the truth."

"N-not a story…"

"You're not learning, boy. Days here, and you've learned nothing. How many times have I told you what the proper response to my greeting should be? You _will_ address each of us as 'sir', and answer all questions." He pauses as he looks over the array of instruments he has set up around me. "Do you think it can't get worse than this? I've only just begun. As I'm sure Deadline has mentioned, an 'immortal' like you can last a long time here." He picks up something sharp. "Now, one more time. The truth, if you please."

Pain and pent-up frustration make me shout. "It _is the truth! That's all I know!"_

He pauses, considering this. "Perhaps it is. Yet you still refuse to address me with the proper respect in your answer." Verge just shakes his head. "Very well." He stares at the pointed tip of the steel needle he's holding. "Which eye do you aim with, boy?"

"What?"

"It's a simple question. Which eye do you aim with?" He turns the long needle around and around in his hand. "Answer."

Oh, Primus. "L-left."

"Really." He holds the needle in front of my face. When I try to turn my head away, he grabs my chin and forces me to look at it. "I think that's a lie."

"Don't…please…"

"Please, _what_?"

"Please…" My face twitches. I'm not giving in, I'm _not. I'm just…Primus, please don't destroy my eyes! "…Sir."_

"Ah, very good. I see that you _can be taught." He raises the needle over my right eye. "And now I'll teach you not to lie."_

*

"Go ahead and try," Risk said with a slight sigh, although his expression did betray a hint of fear.

Damask narrowed his eyes and leveled the gun at the Predacon symbol on Risk's forehead. "You really _do_ think you're immortal, don't you? Well, I'm about to change that." Without another moment's hesitation, he pulled the trigger.

The only sound was a loud _click._

"What?" Damask tried again, with the same result. "It's jammed!"

Risk opened the secure channel to his jet. "Locate. Execute emergency extraction," he said quietly.

Damask looked up from angrily struggling with the gun. "What did you say?"

"Nothing." The corner of Risk's mouth twitched into a smirk.

Damask struck Risk hard across the face with the gun, then turned to one of his guards. "Give me your gun. Give it to me now!"

The guard complied, and Damask whirled back around, once more aiming at Risk. "I don't know how you do it, kid, but you're not getting out of this one. I've waited too long for this!"

Risk glowered back at him, his face aching from the dent in his cheek. "Don't call me that."

"What, 'kid'? That's what you are. Just a boy who thought he could be a big bot by killing one of the Guild. Well, you picked the wrong target that time."

Rage began to take over, and Risk growled as he struggled in the web. "Don't call me that! _Nobody_ is gonna call me that ever again!"

"Nobody will get the chance to," Damask said coldly, once more aiming the guard's gun at Risk's forehead.

"What's that?" A guard suddenly pointed out the side window.

Very obviously annoyed at the interruption, Damask turned and looked out the window.

A small jet was heading straight for them.

"It's not turning!" Another guard took a step back.

"Shoot it down!" Damask ordered.

Risk calmed, getting control of himself once more. "Shields," he told the jet. "Stop five meters after impact."

The guards began firing, shattering the windows and setting off loud alarms. The shots simply deflected off the shields, affecting neither the jet's speed nor its heading.

"Run! Get out of the way!" The guards turned and ran towards the door as the jet crashed through what was left of the windows, sending glass and framework showering into the room. Damask threw himself to the floor, covering his head as the jet hurtled towards him.

The jet stopped abruptly less than a meter from Risk and simply hovered. "What?" Damask cried, reaching for the guard's gun and pushing himself to his feet.

A piece of framework had disrupted the web slightly around Risk's arm enough to allow limited movement, and with some effort Risk reached over his shoulder and drew one of the swords that was attached to his back. By the time Damask was on his feet and had readied the gun, Risk had deftly freed himself from the web. He eyed his gun, lying on the floor a few meters behind the seething Maximal.

"You're _not_ getting out of here alive, kid." Damask growled.

Risk's calm was immediately broken. "I warned you not to call me that." He raised his sword.

Damask smirked, his own composure returning. "Poor little boy, unable to take a little name-calling. I would have thought you'd have developed a thicker shell after being in an orphanage."

Risk's jaw dropped. "What? What do you know about that?"

"Oh, I've got friends in even higher places. You'd be surprised what some people know about you." 

There was a moment's pause. "You don't know _anything." Risk seethed, clearly disturbed._

"Not that any of that matters any more." Damask flicked the gun to its highest setting and fired.

*

_***Day…Thirteen?…***_

The sounds stand out the most. Verge's smooth voice or Deadline's growl. The hum of the generator as it charges for another shock. The clinking of the instruments Verge has on his table. The slight difference in the crackling of the cutting laser and of the sparks that come from my damaged circuitry. The near-steady drip of mech fluid onto the floor.

And the sound of glass shattering. It was so loud, and it echoed in my head along with the crunching of the optic's inner circuitry, because the needle didn't stop at the surface. Then my own voice begging for them to please repair it, and Verge's voice telling me that the optic was damaged well beyond any hope of repair. I didn't need any diagnostic to tell me that was true.

Now it's the crunch of little pieces of glass as Verge or Deadline keep stepping on the remains of my right optic that are still on the floor. They never bothered to clean that up. Why couldn't they pick up the pieces? I can't stand that sound.

"So tell me, boy, what would you like to do?"

This is the new question. Verge finally dropped the immortality question. I think it was making him annoyed that I couldn't come up with a better "story". He called me a stubborn fool and a useless scrap of nothing. And then he hit me, which is usually Deadline's thing. Maybe he was having a bad day? He left, and when he came back he had something new to try on me and hasn't asked about my immortality since. I'm not sure how long it's been, but things have only gotten worse since then.

"Well?"

I want to go home. I want them to stop hurting me. I want to be able to get up and move again. I want my eye back. All true, but not the answer he wants.

There's that hum again. No sense bracing myself any more—it never helps. And there's my voice, screaming again.

The answer comes almost automatically once I have control over my voice box again. "To join the Guild…sir." I add that last part hurriedly when I hear the crackling start up.

"I don't believe you." Sparks crackle.

Why won't he believe me? I know saying that is the only way out. Working for them is better than this. Anything is better than this. I hate saying it, hate thinking it, but I…I can't do this any more.

"And look at me when I'm speaking to you, boy."

I do, turning my head slightly to look up at him with my one functioning optic. I don't know why he makes me look at him. It's not like I can't still see him even when I sleep.

"Now, what would you like to do?"

I try to make it sound more believable. "To join the Guild, sir."

"Why?"

Why? That's new. I pause, trying to figure out what the answer is supposed to be.

Verge shakes his head slowly. "You don't even remember why you were brought here, do you, boy? You want to join the Guild because freelancing is not permitted. Do you understand?"

Clinking, and then the high-pitched screech of metal on metal as he scratches that needle down the side of my head. 

There's too much echoing in my auditory sensors. Did he just ask something?

"I said, do you understand." That doesn't sound like a question at all.

"Yes, sir." Where's the clink as he puts that needle down? Put the needle down!

"I'm not sure you do."

My left eye goes wide. The needle is hovering over it. I don't even see him any more, or even his hand on it. Just the needle. Primus, don't…not my other eye!

More panic is swelling inside me than ever before. "Please…please don't…I understand, no more freelancing." 

The needle dances back and forth in front of my eye before suddenly stopping. "I don't believe you," it says as it pulls back, ready to strike again.

"No! I'll join! I'll join the Guild, I won't do any more jobs on my own, I swear!" That's my voice. It sounds a little funny, though. Not quite right. But at least the needle stopped. It's still there, but it stopped.

"Really?" it asks.

"Yes, I swear! I'll join! I'll only do the jobs that are given to me, I swear to Primus! I'll join…sir…" I wonder for a moment about that last word. It looked like the needle was waiting for it, though. Right, call everyone "sir", just to be safe.

"So you understand now." The needle leaves my field of view and I hear the clink as it lands on the table.

"Y-yes, sir." I'm so glad the needle is gone. I hate that needle. But I can join the Guild now, and maybe I won't ever have to see it again.

"That's what we've been waiting to hear. Was that so hard?" Now Verge is the one talking again, leaning his face over mine.  

"I-I can go now? Go and join?"

Verge laughs, a sound that I've never heard before. "Of course not."

What? "But—but I _want_ to join!" Why won't he let me join? "Sir…"

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid it's too late, boy. Your application date has expired." He smirks. "Though you'll be staying with us nonetheless."

"But…no…please, sir…"

His face disappears. "Goodnight."

The door opens and closes. 

I'm pretty sure that sobbing is mine.

*

Risk raised his sword, deflecting the shot. The force of it ripped the sword from his hand, and the blast was turned back on Damask. The Maximal roared in pain as his arm was nearly blown off at the shoulder.

"You want to try calling me names again?" Risk growled menacingly.

"Sir!" The guards rushed towards Damask and two of them began pulling him back, while the others fired at Risk. 

Risk dodged, leaping and rolling out of the way until he managed to pick up his sword. He again eyed his gun, which was now behind the line of guards. Still dodging, he inched his way towards it.

Damask resisted being pulled to safety. "No, shoot him! _Shoot him!" _

More guards had arrived, and they all turned their weapons on Risk simultaneously. 

Risk was forced to retreat as he dodged, and two shots found their mark on his thigh and forearm. He cursed as it finally became clear that his weapon was irretrievable. "Open," he ordered, and both the shields and the cockpit of the jet opened long enough to allow him to jump inside. Ignoring the pain from his damage, Risk took control of the jet and blasted out of the room, shattering the windows through which he had planned his original escape and leaving the raging Damask behind.

Exhausted, Risk switched on the autopilot once he was outside Cybertropolis. He picked up his sword off the floor of the cockpit and examined the blackened scorch mark on it from the laser. "Burnt," he said angrily. "Now I'm gonna have to slaggin' polish it again!" He reached behind him and attached the sword to its magnetic holster on his back, then pounded his fist on the side of the cockpit. "And that scrapheap stole my slaggin' gun! That was my _favourite one! It's __mine, slaggit!"_

His thigh sparked, and only then did Risk notice the extent of the damage. "And this _hurts_!" he added, cursing again. He put his head in his hands, trying to control the anger. After a few cycles of that, he suddenly looked up. "And who told him where I came from?" Risk folded his arms and sat back in his seat, looking disturbed once more as the autopilot went through the motions of doubling back on its trail to make sure no one had followed.

The jet left him at the dropoff point, and Risk had only walked a few steps before his leg nearly collapsed underneath him. "Cycle mode," he said, his voice strained. His internal computer informed him that transformation was hampered by the damage. "Slaggin' great," he muttered as he began limping home. "I'm having a slaggin' perfect day."

*

_***Day…Unknown***_

I'm staring at a spot on the ceiling.

Has that spot always been there? I don't know. I don't know how long ago I discovered it. But it's something to look at. The rest of the ceiling is so bland.

I don't get to join the Guild. I wanted to, but they won't let me. They say I'm not good enough, so instead I have to stay here in this room. Every time they come in I tell them that I want to join, but they just smile and then start on me like they always did. Nothing ever changes. Nothing will ever change. I'm staying here forever; just a one-eyed kid who's not worthy to join the Guild.

That spot will be there forever too. Maybe they don't even know it's there. I don't think I'll tell them, though.

The door opens. "And how are you feeling?"

"Ready, sir," I reply without hesitation. I've gotten used to the way my voice sounds now. Sort of faraway and distracted.

"We're going to try something different today, boy. Do you want something different?"

I nod. My head is the only part of my body that still moves. For a moment I wonder if the rest of my body still _can move. Doesn't matter. I'll never know. That spot doesn't move either._

But suddenly I want to know really, really badly. I want to move. I want to so badly.

And then I feel something different. The bonds are being removed. I know my face lights up. I'll be able to move again! I twitch an arm and start trying to raise it.

A shock stops me, and I cry out in despair.

Verge sighs. "Foolish boy. You couldn't wait, could you?"

Look at him when he talks to you. I turn my head to do that and notice something new, some kind of device positioned above his console.

He gestures at the device. "This is a motion sensor. The more you move, the more intense the shock. Now, I've untied you, but I want you to stay very still. Don't move at all, or the device will know. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." I nod, and receive a shock for doing so.

"Now, I'm going to leave. I'm going to leave you untied, and the door unlocked. But you'd better not move."

No, no, no, not fair…he can't do this to me, it isn't fair…

He goes over to the door. "Don't move, now," he says one more time before leaving and closing it behind him.

I'm left staring at the device. I'm free but I can't move. Free but not free. Primus, I need to move. Just a little. I just have to move a little.

I twitch my knee. The movement feels so good, but the resulting shock instantly takes that away. Another slight movement of my elbow gives the same thing, and this time the shock seems to be more intense. Maybe because I sobbed at the same time.

I'm still staring in the same direction. Past the device, I can see the door. It's unlocked. It's unlocked and it's _right there._

Another shock.

Enough, enough. No more. Don't move. Don't even twitch. Just stay perfectly still.             

Now I'm even worse off, because I can't even move my head. I don't like this view. I wish I could turn my head so that I could look at that spot again.

Then suddenly there is a loud but muffled boom somewhere, and all the lights go out. What just happened? Now I can't even see that spot even if I could turn my head.

There is another loud boom, and I think it's closer this time. Now I can hear people yelling in the distance. I wonder vaguely what's going on, but I have to stay still.

_No, you have to get up_, something inside me says.

I can't. If I move I'll get hurt again.

_You can move now. Think about it. You can get up._

Think about it…

There goes another boom, and this one rocks the room, shifting my position on the table. I gasp, expecting the shock.

But it doesn't come.

It sinks in slowly. I get it. Power's out. No power for that device.

Maybe I _can_ get up. I move an arm, and nothing happens. Okay. I slowly prop myself up on my elbows, but they nearly collapse. 

_Too slow. You have to go faster._

Faster, yes. Get up and run; escape. I sit up, listening to the sounds of gears that haven't been used in so long, and slide off the table onto legs that do collapse underneath me. I grab for the nearest thing to steady myself, and Verge's table tips over on top of me. My eye goes wide as the instruments land all around me. There's that needle again.

_Focus. Take a weapon._

I manage to stop staring at the instruments long enough to grab one up, then shakily pull myself to my feet and totter over to the door. Every movement hurts—I'm still damaged and my systems haven't understood anything but pain for I don't know how long now—but that voice inside me tells me to keep going.

There's chaos in the hallway. Lights are flickering on and off, going from complete darkness to intense light. What does it matter…I'm half-blind anyway. I start making my way down the hallway, one hand on the wall to steady myself. I have no idea where I'm going or which is the way out. Every once in a while someone runs past me, but they all seem too busy to really notice me. I walk past several conversations.

"What the slag is going on?"

"There was a freak power surge in the B-level generator! Blew that one and then sent the overload right down the line to the rest! Power's out for the entire building!"

"What about backup generators?"

"Blew those, too! Primus, I don't know what's going on around here. How could this happen?"

"Slaggit, I can't even go to night vision! These blasted light bursts are confusing the program!"

"We have to shut them down! Shut them all down! Anyone who can get to a generator switch, shut the slaggin' thing down!"

"There's a fire on B-level!"

All the conversations blur together. I keep walking. There must be a way out somewhere.

Someone puts a hand on my shoulder, and my fluid pump nearly bursts out of my chest. 

"What happened to you?" I don't know the voice.

"N-near one of the generators…" I find myself saying before I even realize it. I sound as disoriented as I feel.

"Slag…and I hear we've already lost some people. Just get out of here until we get this fixed. The police will probably be here soon because of this, and we have to hide some evidence before they do."

"Which way out? I can't see, and my positioning program is damaged…" Again I barely realize it's me saying this.

"Stairs at the end of this hall. Go down two flights to the door, and you'll exit in the alleyway. Stay out of sight of the police." 

Someone else runs past. "Whoever's here, get moving! We have to shut those generators down!"

"Remember, go hide," the guy says before taking off.

I nod shakily and keep moving. Focus, now. Hall, stairs, door, alley. Go.

The stairs are the hardest on my stiff legs. Other bots bump me as they rush by, and fear nearly paralyzes me each time. But somehow I make it down the stairs.

I'm in the alley now, moving. I can't think. Where am I? What am I doing? What do I do now?

Wait…some guy told me to do something.     

_Go hide._

Every movement is pure pain now. I can't go much further. Hide. Gotta hide.

My legs finally give out and I collapse. No, gotta keep going…oh, Primus, gotta hide before they find me and bring me back…

I turn my head and once again nearly blow my fluid pump. But it's just a reflection. My reflection. It's a window. I peer through it, and inside it looks like a basement storage room of some sort. _Hide._

The window won't open and I can't seem to break it with my fist. Then I realize there's something in my other hand, and I remember that I took one of the instruments to use as a weapon just in case. I bring my arm around and hit the glass with it with all my strength. The window shatters—that sound, that awful sound—and only then do I realize that the weapon in my hand is that needle.

I don't remember what happened after that.

*

Risk trudged past the street bots, trying not to clutch at his damaged leg. As always, they didn't look up at him, but a little farther down the way one of the Predacon kids was watching him. Risk glared at the kid as he limped past him, recognizing him as the one he'd caught trying to steal from him the night before. The small bot was now wearing a shiny expensive-looking crest that had once belonged to a certain Maximal named Taze.

"Got anything today?" The kid seemed unperturbed by Risk's sour look. 

"No. Take a slaggin' hike, kid."

The small Predacon followed him, easily keeping pace with Risk's limp. "Aw, c'mon, you gave stuff last time."

"I said, _no_. Now get away from me."

"So, where you been this time? What'd you steal?"

In a flash Risk had the kid by the arm. "I'm not a common thief, and I'm not your neighbourhood cred supplier. Got it?"

The kid's tough look faltered, and he tried to pull his arm away. "Ow…"

Risk released the bot with a jerk, giving an angry sigh as he watched the kid run off. He continued on his way, noticing the rest of the street kids. They had backed well off, but were still staring at him. He turned and glared back, sending them ducking away.

Once the old warehouse was in view, Risk checked around him to make sure that he was alone. "Perimeter report," he said tiredly.

_"Unit Risk. No other movement."_

Risk yawned as he navigated the warehouse. He carefully let himself down through the trapdoor, trying not to land too hard on his damaged leg. He had just passed through the holographic wall when his leg collapsed once more. 

"Computer, ready CR-tank. Blaster damage."

_"Acknowledged. One new message."_

Risk sighed. "Decrypt and display." He hauled himself to his feet with the help of the computer console.

There was only one line on the screen, from Mission four-zero-nine-zero Contact: _"We'll find you."_

Risk narrowed his eyes at the screen, barely stopping himself from putting a fist through it. "Yeah, you and everyone else, big shot. Computer, send reply to Mission four-zero-nine-zero Contact: 'You owe me some money'. Reroute signal and block contact. Scramble this signal completely. I don't want to hear from this guy ever again."

_"Acknowledged. CR-tank ready."_

Risk hobbled over to the tank. "And keep it quiet out there." He settled into it, exhausted.

*

_***After Escape: Day …?***_

_Wake up now._

Where am I?

"Ready, sir," I mumble. I feel like I'm waking from a dream, but my optics are already online. I wasn't asleep.

No…my _optic_. Just one.

_"Which eye do you aim with, boy?"_

Memories flood my mind and I gasp as the fear takes hold again. "No, no, no…" Primus, I'm still there…

_No. No, you're not. Wake up._            

The inner voice calms the panic building inside me. I'm not there any more…?

Then where am I, and how did I get here?

I look around, but this isn't a place I know. It's full of crates and boxes, all covered with a heavy layer of dust. I'm pretty dusty, too. How long have I been here?

Vague memories of explosions and flashing lights pass through my head. Yes, I remember—I think—yes. I escaped. It's all cloudy, but I think I walked right out the door.

But how long ago?

I'm not tied down. I can move. I slowly uncurl myself from the ball I'm in and push myself up into a sitting position, all my gears and joints complaining. Everything hurts. I need repairs. I need them badly. I gotta get up.

I take another look around the room. There's some broken glass on the floor that obviously came from the empty window frame above it. Is that how I got in here? And then I notice something else lying on the floor with the glass.

That needle.

Panic surges again as memories fill my head.

 _No. Keep control. Time to leave this place._

Again that inner voice helps me fight down the panic. Yes. Gotta get out of here.

I stagger to my feet, looking anywhere but at that _thing on the floor, and notice a staircase leading up to the next level. Everything hurts so much that I practically have to crawl up them. I open the door at the top and stumble through it._

I've come up in a factory. Several Predacons are working on an assembly line nearby, and one of them turns and notices me. His eyes widen immediately. "Holy slag! What happened to you?"

"A-attacked," I manage to mumble as I collapse.

He rushes over to me just in time to catch me before I hit the floor. His touch is painful, and I find myself reflexively trying to pull away from him. "Don't…don't hurt me any more…" My voice is sounding distant again. No, gotta stay in control. It's hard, though. 

It would be so easy to just let go and not think or feel any more. Just stare at that spot on the ceiling. So easy…

_No. Keep control._

The other bots are gathering around now, staring and whispering to each other. The one holding me motions for them to stand back. "Call a repair team!" 

No! Primus, I can't let the repair team take me to a public med bay. What if someone recognizes me and calls the police? "No…"

"What do you mean, 'no'? Have you _seen yourself?"_

I shake my head. "No, but…"

The bot grabs a polished piece of metal off a nearby pile and puts it in front of me.

"Primus…" Is that even me? It can't be…that _can't be me. The bot staring back at me from the mirror is damaged to the point that I'm repulsed by it. Cuts deep enough that bare circuitry is showing or wire is hanging out, pieces of the superstructure stripped away, blackened areas from the cutting laser, too many scratches and dents to count…but the worst is the face. I don't even notice all the cuts and dents on it. All I see is that dark hole on the right side, and the partially crushed circuitry inside it, some of it poking out. "No…oh, Primus. Oh, slag." The face in the mirror twists in grief._

I can't look at this any more. This thing can't be me. I hear a moan of despair escape me as I bury my face in my hands.              

I can't even cover my face completely. Two of my fingers are broken. I hadn't even realized.

I sway, and the Predacon catches me before I topple over completely. "See? Look, you _need_ a repair team."

"No, no med bay…no police…" The room is starting to wobble, and I fight to keep the static out of my vision. "Can repair…myself…"

"No police, huh?" He looks at me again, then turns to one of the others. "Get Solder in here."

"No…don't want…"

"Hey, we know what it can be like for Predacons. Solder'll keep this quiet. Okay?"

I nod, trying to erase the vision of that face from my memory. But I can't, and it's the last thing I remember before the world goes dark.

*

Risk stepped off the platform and out of the CR-tank, fully repaired. "Anything new?"

_"No new messages."_

"For once. Wow. Maybe I can finally get a break." Risk lay down on his bed and pulled out his favourite holo-comic from underneath it. He turned it on to where he'd left off, skipping over the missing part of the data that had resulted from some damage long ago, and began reading the Maximal lettering.

Only a few cycles passed before he put the comic down and sat up, unable to read any further. "How does he know about me?"

_"Command?"_

"Access Damask, CEO, Synergy Corporation. I want everything about him, including his personal files."

_"Acknowledged." _The computer began processing the request. 

Risk got up and began pacing uneasily. "Nobody's supposed to know where I came from!" He stopped. "He said other people knew…" His expression soured further. "My life is none of their slaggin' business!"

The computer beeped. _"Damask, Synergy Corporation. Current news broadcast. Display?"_

"Yeah."

The computer picked up the broadcast, which had just begun. A reporter stood across the street from the Synergy Corporation building. "…a break-in at Synergy Corp last night. The thief was apparently trying to steal information, but was repelled by guards and Damask himself, who incurred some damage during the attack. Damask issued this press release earlier."

The image changed to show Damask in front of several microphones, his shoulder almost visibly undergoing self-repairs as he spoke. "We assume that this break-in was by a corporate saboteur hoping to steal some of our technology. He escaped with nothing, but his identity was not captured. I have given my statement to the police, and hope that somehow this criminal will be caught." Anger flashed on his face for a moment before his expression quickly became emotionless once more. "I will be taking a leave of absence to recover from this ordeal, effective immediately. All further questions on this matter will be addressed to our Public Relations Department. Thank you." He left the microphones as various reporters shouted questions after him.

Risk smirked. "'Corporate saboteur', huh? Nice cover. Come on, say it right! Tell them how you spent forever setting that up and then _lost! And aw, now you gotta go 'recover'? Serves you right, scrapheap."_

_"Continue search?"_

"Yeah, yeah, keep going. Hack everything." Risk paced a little more, then grabbed up a small practice gun and began twirling it around his finger. "'Recover'. Recover from _what_? His damage wasn't _that_ bad. It's not like he didn't know what he was getting into, either. What's his deal?" Risk fired at a target on the wall. 

_"Search complete."_

"Let's have a look." Risk scanned quickly through the files. There were assorted business deals, company information and a few personal messages, but nothing out of the ordinary. Finally he came upon some encrypted files, but it didn't take the computer long to decrypt them. Risk's eyes went wide for a moment, then narrowed as he opened the file folder with his name on it. 

It began with little bits of information about Damask's brother and his death. After that, the database began to grow as Damask picked up whatever details he could find about Diesel's killer. Most of it in the beginning was general information that was now public knowledge and posted on Cybertron Infocore. That small biography of one of Cybertron's most notorious assassins stated that the Predacon Risk attempted things no one else would dare, and was therefore thought to be crazy. Risk's expression twisted slightly. "_Not crazy," he muttered as he kept reading._

Damask had apparently begun to agree. Tapping as many sources as possible, both legal and underground, Damask had pieced together the rumours of Risk's immortality into a coherent story. Information about Risk's time spent at the Guild was also included, credited to Deadline. Risk gave an involuntary shudder when he saw the name.

Then, right before the plans for the previous night's setup were listed, Risk discovered another file. In it, there was only one word: LostBot. There was no source credited. 

Risk stared at the word. "Who told him where I came from?" His expression darkened. "I don't like this."

The computer beeped. _"One new message."_

"Decrypt and display," Risk sighed, annoyed at the interruption.

The message appeared and Risk read through it. "Figures. After all, it's only been what, three days since my last mission for him? Don't bother with the reply—I'm gonna visit Chronos in person tonight. I've got some questions."

*

_***After Escape: Day Sixteen***_

I'm better now.

Solder did a good job. Once he reconnected my self-repair, diagnostic and command functions, the repairs went more smoothly. Or so I'm told. I wasn't awake for the most part—there was a lot of work to be done. Parts of me had to be not only repaired, but rebuilt.

I remember him asking once or twice what had happened; why this had been done to me. I avoided the question. I don't want people knowing about this. I want to try and forget it ever happened.

Verge had been right about my optic. There was nothing that Solder could do for it. He tried, but in the end he told me that I would need an entirely new optic, right from the inside out. He told me of a certain contact of his—somebody who knew somebody who knew somebody—who for a good amount of credits could set me up with what I needed. Luckily I could afford it. 

My new optic took a long time to install, and I've found that its attached software takes up a lot of space in my internal computer. I'm still getting used to the way it looks and feels, but the targeting eye functions perfectly. Now I can aim better than ever. 

That wasn't the only upgrade I decided to get while I was at it. I added spikes around my shoulders, and one each on my forearms. The bot who installed my targeting eye also put in a secondary set of wiring underneath my superstructure. Nobody is gonna touch me again. 

Solder also reconnected my internal clock, and only then did I realize how badly I'd lost track of time. I found the date of that freak power surge that took out the power to half a city block, and using that, the last date that I'd recorded, and the date that Solder told me he began my repairs, I managed to piece things together.

I was there just short of twenty days.

Twenty _days_ strapped to that table. Twenty days of Verge and Deadline and the laughter and all those things they did to me…

And then the escape. Apparently I lay in that basement storage room for seven days before finally waking up.  How could I have been there for so long? Just lying there, not realizing time was going by…not realizing _anything…_

But I'm better now. I'm repaired and fully charged.

On the eleventh day after escape I finally went home. The messages had been piling up. It seemed some of my regulars had been worried about me, especially Chronos. It took me a while to respond to all the messages. No, I hadn't been captured by the police. No, I hadn't told anybody about any of the jobs I'd done. Circumstances beyond my control kept me from getting to my computer to pick up my messages. I apologized for missed contracts. I'd never missed a contract before this, and I ended up missing out on two. Slaggin' Guild, messing with my perfect reputation.

_"I'll join the Guild, I won't do any more jobs on my own, I swear!"_

No. It's _my _life! They made me say that, but it's not gonna happen. I'm free now, and I'll _never work for them. Besides, I need the money. After paying for my targeting eye and leaving Solder a large amount for his help, I haven't been left with that much. I have to start taking the contracts again. But I told the contacts that those jobs would have to wait. There's something else I have to do first._

I've had the nightmares almost every night since this whole thing began, and I've had enough. It's time to end this. Time to deal with them. Once they're gone, they won't be able to haunt me any more.

The Afterburner isn't very crowded when I get there.  "Scanner." I look through the wall with my targeting eye. Just as I'd figured, Deadline is sitting at the bar, laughing with one of his friends.

Not for long.

I push open the door and make my way to the bar. A couple of bots look up, but go right back to their conversations or drinks. I notice the Guild crest on the shoulder of quite a few of the bots. I guess this is one of their favourite hangouts.

We'll see about that.

Seeing as how half the bots in there are carrying weaponry, I don't stand out. I walk up to the bar and lean on it, right next to Deadline. He hasn't noticed me yet. He's still laughing with his buddy.

Laughing…

Focus!

The bartender asks me what I want, and I ask for whatever Deadline had. That makes Deadline turn to glance at me for a moment. He almost goes back to talking with the other bot, but does a double-take instead and turns back to me. "You look familiar…"

"Yeah?"

The bartender hands me my drink, and I purposely knock over Deadline's drink while taking it.

Deadline growls and immediately reaches to grab me. "Who do you think you—" He stops suddenly as recognition flashes in his optics. "You…the kid!"

"I don't think you're gonna call me that any more." I ready the device hidden in my hand.

Deadline's glass suddenly rolls off the bar and shatters on the floor.

That sound…No…

I flinch, and he notices instantly. With a smirk he steps on the glass, crunching the pieces under his foot.  "I think I'm gonna call you whatever I want, _kid. And what's the matter, you don't like that sound?"_

More crunching. I take a step back as the sound echoes inside my head again. No, no, stay in control. I'm better now. I'm better.

Before I can get control of the situation again, Deadline backhands me hard enough to send me crashing into the bar. "You've got some nerve coming around here. I don't know how you got away, but I'm gonna see that we tie you down even tighter this time." 

"No…"

_Focus!_

Deadline seizes my arm, barely avoiding the spike. "Nice new toys, though." He points at my targeting eye. "I see you got a replacement. Well, I'm sure we can fix that soon enough, huh, _kid?" He draws his gun as he and his friend both laugh._

"Don't call me that!" Before he can bring the gun to my face, I press the button on the device in my hand and shove it into his open mouth. Surprised, he lets go of me, and I leap away.

"Who's laughing now," I find myself snarling, right before his head blows up.

The guy beside him catches some of the blast too, and falls. I turn and start to walk out, but the other Guild members in the place are already getting up. I draw quickly, a gun in each hand. "I came here just for him. But if anyone else wants some, come and get it. I can spray this room before any of you get close."

Many of them narrow their eyes, but they don't make a move. 

"Now, the name's Risk. Remember it in case someone tells you to come after me." I start walking towards the door, keeping my targeting program on watch for any movement. "I'm sure you've heard the rumours about my immortality. Well, they're true. Come after me, and you'll just end up as dead as him. I'm freelance, and that's how I'm going to stay."

I don't bother listening to the various angry mutterings around the room. 

"So just leave me alone, and I'll leave you alone." I back out the door and transform immediately, speeding away before any of them can follow. Here's hoping they got that. Well, if they didn't, they'll just end up like Deadline, because I'm through playing their games. 

But I've got another job to do right now. There's someone else who's getting it tonight, and I know just where to find him.

It isn't long before I'm sitting on the roof of the building opposite the Guild. It was easy enough to figure out which building it was even though my memory was a bit fragmented. I hadn't managed to get very far from it in my condition—the factory I'd ended up in was only about a block away. 

I use my targeting eye to look through the walls again. There he is. Verge. He's sitting in what seems to be a lounge area, drinking energon and talking to some other bot. 

What, got nobody to torture at the moment, you depraved piece of…

Focus on the job. Just do this. 

There's another room between the outer wall and the lounge, and there are other bots moving around inside. What do I care…they're Guild members too. Rotten slagheaps. They all deserve this.

I bring up the small missile launcher and take aim. No easy, clean shot this time. I'm gonna blow him to the Inferno. 

I fire, and the missile blasts through the outer wall and the next. My targeting eye follows it, and I watch as Verge and the bot nearest him first look up at the sound, then start to move as if in slow motion. It's too late for them, though. The missile detonates right in front of them.

Half the floor blows out with them. I can sort of see the other bots yelling and trying to run as the floor gives way underneath them, but I don't care about them. What I'm focusing on is the small flaming wreckage of Verge. What wasn't vaped is scattered everywhere, and I watch as the pieces fall through the collapsed floor. I just regret that I couldn't have been right there in front of him so he'd have known who did it.

He'll never touch me again.

*


	3. Chapter III

Risk swung down and landed lightly in a crouch on the balcony of the top floor office. As he stood, his auditory sensors picked up the hum of weapons charging. He sighed. "You really need those? I'm not here on a job." He directed the comment at the large chair facing away from the glass doors.

The chair turned away from the desk, revealing a large matte-black Predacon sitting with his fingers steepled. "My message did not request a meeting, assassin. I don't like surprises." His deep voice was calm and even.

"Oh, come on. As if you were actually surprised." Risk's targeting eye zeroed in on the two guards hidden in the room who had him in their gun sights. "Mind telling the bodyguards to slag off? I came here to talk."

"Really." Chronos pressed a button, and the glass doors slid open, creating reflections against Chronos' dark red accents as they moved. "Don't think for a moment that I will even discuss raising the fee for this job."

Risk stepped inside. "That's not what I'm here about. This is personal." He glared in the direction of the hidden guards. "Would you get them out of here?"

Chronos regarded Risk carefully for another moment, then turned to the guards. "As you were, gentlemen." The guards abruptly headed for the door.

Risk waited for the door to close again before speaking. "And don't record this."

"I don't take orders, assassin." Chronos' tone was steady and authoritative. "State your business, or leave."

Risk sat down on Chronos' desk, shoving datapads aside. "So…do you keep records and information about the people who work for you?"

"And why do you ask?"

"Just wondering. I mean, you must, right?" 

An impatient sigh. "I would appreciate hearing your point. Business hours are over now, and I have better things to do."

"Fine. I want to know if you know anything about me." Risk picked up a datapad, looking it over.

Chronos narrowed his eyes, annoyed. "In what respect? Besides that you are an assassin with as little respect for your employers as you have manners?" He snatched the datapad from Risk's hands and put it in a desk drawer with the rest.

Risk hopped off the desk. "Hey, I've got respect for the creds you pay me. I don't know what else you expect when you try to have me offlined the first time I work for you."

Chronos sighed. "Purely business, assassin. You know I appreciate the work you do for me now."

"Yeah, I know you do. I'm here to find out if you appreciate me so much that maybe you wanted to learn a little more about me. And then maybe, I don't know, share what you've learned."

Chronos smirked and shook his head slowly. "And what makes you think I would care enough about you to bother? You perform the occasional task for me. That is as far as it goes. I neither know nor want to know about you."

"You sure? I thought you crime boss types liked to know everything about everyone."

"I assure you, I have no need for such information about you."

"What, I don't rate?"

"Not particularly. You are just one of a great many outside sources who occasionally contribute to my business. Perhaps you're not quite as important as you think you are."

Risk scowled. "I could be _real_ important if I ever felt like it." He gave Chronos a pointed look.

Chronos simply raised an eyebrow. "Are you _threatening _me?"

The two stared each other down for a long moment before Risk finally spoke. "Nah, all your job info is safe with me. I'm no squealer."

"Good. Now I believe you have a job to do?"

"Right. Sure." Risk stepped out the open glass doors and onto the balcony. His proximity sensor suddenly beeped, but before he could react Risk was on the ground with a large foot on his head.

"That was your one chance, assassin." Chronos' voice was as smooth and calm as ever. "Any attempt to threaten me like that again and I will see you rent limb from limb." 

Risk tried to move, but the only result was a none-too-comforting creaking of the gears in his neck. "Get _off _me," he growled, his voice muffled against the floor. "Get off…"

Chronos ignored him. "You perform the assignments, and the specified amount of credits will be transferred to your account. That is the full nature of our relationship. I would not appreciate seeing you here again. Do we have an understanding?"

Risk grunted an acknowledgement, and in an instant the foot was gone. By the time Risk had pushed himself back up on his hands and knees, Chronos was already back inside the office, and thick metal shutters were closing over the glass doors. Risk picked himself up and rubbed his neck indignantly, feeling the gears complain slightly as he moved his head. He scowled at the metal shutters for a moment, then gave them a hard punch before turning and jumping off the balcony into his waiting jet.

*

_***Two stellar cycles ago: Two hundred eighteen days After Escape. __Mission__ two-one-zero-three***_

I can see why this Maximal is annoying people. Slag, it would annoy _me_ if he was poking into my business like that. Maybe I'd want him offlined too. Some people just seem to deserve it. I mean, I know lots of things. You can't be in this business and _not _pick up information here and there. I know about a Maximal project called "Protoform X", and I also know of a couple of other things that the TriPredacus Council themselves are funding. But you don't catch me trying to give up what I know, for money or not. I stick to my own business.

I read over the specifics of the job. The contact's name is Vector, which something in me finds amusing. It's obviously a made-up name, but I always think it's funny what some bots will come up with. I've had more than one contact name himself as some famous Decepticon, like Soundwave or even Megatron. I'll never get over the nerve of some people. 

But this one makes me laugh even more, because I've just figured something out. I know certain jobs have been coming from someone pretty high up in the Maximal government—like from Maximal High Command—and I'm sure now that General Sigma is behind them.

Sigma. Vector. Vector Sigma.

It's so easy it makes me laugh. I've heard that that guy has an ego, but this is pretty ridiculous. Naming yourself after the legendary entity that gave Transformers life and intelligence? Come _on_. But whatever—he pays well. After this job I should be able to afford that jet I've been wanting.

This Maximal he wants me to take out is an official named Flare. Apparently he somehow looked into some private files and he'll probably try to give the information to the press. Primus, I hate squealers. Well, there'll be one less after tonight.

"Send affirmative reply to contact Vector. Mission will proceed tonight."

_"Acknowledged."_

I love this new computer. I'm direct-linked to it now, and I fit myself with a download connection so that I don't have to keep all the information for all the jobs in my head at once. A good thing, too, because my upgraded targeting software doesn't leave me a lot of hard drive space for extras like that. I simply can't keep all the records in my head any more.

"Download mission specs and target area maps."

_"Acknowledged."_

I absorb the download, shifting the files around in my internal computer to make them easily accessible. The maps and target description are left on top of the queue, and I push the motive for the job to the back.

This guy should be pretty easy to get. As the work day finishes, I position myself on a nearby rooftop and watch him as he leaves his building and joins the crowds of bots on the sidewalks heading home. If he follows his regular schedule, he should go and line up at the nearest public train stop, making himself a perfect target.

But he doesn't. Instead he turns into a small café about half a block from the train stop. I curse to myself. I wanted to just get this job over with. Stupid squealer. Now I have to wait.

Or maybe I don't. This café has a terrace out back. Maybe he'll go there. It means I'll have to change position, but that's no big deal. Avoiding air traffic, I fire lines across back alleyways and jump from building to building until I'm on top of one overlooking the terrace. Sure enough, there's the target, sitting at a table.

But he's not alone.

I climb down from the roof and onto the fire escape, carefully dropping from level to level. I wonder who that bot is that has just come up to him. They shake hands and the other bot sits down at the table. Maybe this is the guy he's gonna give information to! Slaggin' squealer. I should drop them both. The contact—Vector or Sigma or whoever—will probably thank me.

Once I'm in perfect position, I pull out my gun and take aim, zeroing in on Flare. He and the other bot are talking over an energon drink. I suddenly find myself very curious as to what they're talking about. Probably that secret information. I move down a couple more levels,  increasing the range on my auditory sensors, and take aim at the other bot's blue helmet, then at Flare's head. They're both gonna get it—it's just a matter of who I drop first.

"…wonderful, Optimus! Isn't that the ship you were hoping for? Deep space exploration, right?"

"Yes, the _Axalon_. Skeleton crew for the first part of the journey, and the rest to be woken from stasis pods once we land somewhere."

What? Come on, squealer. I know this isn't what you met this guy to talk about. Just spill it, already.

"Nervous at all? I know this is your first command."

"No." The bot pauses, then smiles.  "Well…maybe a little. But I did manage to convince an old friend to join me on the mission. I'm sure everything will go smoothly."

My finger squeezes the trigger slightly. Just say it! I _know _that's why you're here! Hm…maybe it's a code. Maybe he's passing the information in another way. I watch their hands carefully for any sign of that, and switch on my transmission detector.

"When do you leave?"

"In twelve days. I guess you'll have to tell the kids I won't be around as much. How are they, by the way? And Cyan?"

"They're doing just great. Zia starts school again in a few days. They'll miss you, Optimus."

"Tell them I'll miss them as well." The bot sighs. "I'm sorry, Flare, but I have to be going. I'm meeting the other two crew members for the first time tonight."

"Of course. We'll do this again before you leave?"

"Absolutely." He gets up, and my gun follows him as he shakes hands with Flare again. "Things might be a little tight between now and departure, but I'll be sure to make room for an old friend."

What? That's _it_? No information transfer at all? This guy is supposed to be a squealer! That's what the contact said! I should have been able to take them both out!

I suddenly realize how close I am to firing on this Optimus, and carefully ease my finger off the trigger for a moment.   

Holy slag, what's _wrong_ with me?

I'm supposed to take out Flare. That's all. The contact never mentioned taking out anyone he might have talked to, but suddenly I'm—

Focus. Gotta focus. I have a job to do, here.  

The other bot is walking away, leaving Flare alone at the table to finish his drink. I take careful aim at Flare's head, and drop him with one easy shot. He slumps over at his table.

At that moment the other bot turns back to look at Flare. "Oh, and tell…" His optics widen and he trails off. "Flare? Flare!"

I holster my gun, finding myself still watching as the bot runs back to the table and lifts Flare back up in his seat, shaking him. "Flare! Can you hear me? Primus…somebody get help!"

It should be obvious that it's too late for that. Flare was offline before he hit the table. I made sure of it. Still, serving bots and other customers either rush towards the scene or away from it, and I duck down, quickly moving away as several pairs of optics start scanning the area.

"Flare! No…" Optimus is roaring with grief now. "Who did this? _Who did this?!_"

I realize that my auditory sensors are still on hyper-sensitivity, and I switch that off as I hurry away from the scene, transforming to speed away once I have the space to do so. The pieces of their conversation are still playing in my head. That Optimus should consider himself lucky. He has no idea how close he came to being offlined too.

I screech to a stop in a dark alley and transform back to robot mode, playing and replaying what just happened over and over.  What was I doing? What was I _thinking_? Wanting to take out someone else besides the target? I never do that! Non-target casualties are messy and unnecessary! It _was_ just an innocent conversation! What am I, paranoid? Why'd I need to think that it wasn't?

Because it had reminded me of something.

Deadline and his friend, talking and laughing in the bar. But that was personal! This isn't. 

At least, it's not supposed to be. But I know…I know it is. It always is. Every one of them that I've killed since then. I can't seem to kill Deadline and Verge enough. They still won't leave me alone. 

This has to stop. I can't keep doing this. Well, that's it—I'm gonna make sure nothing feels personal again. If I hadn't been told why the contact wanted Flare dead…well, from now on, I don't want to know anything about the target. I'm gonna be a _true_ professional.

It makes me wonder, though…why did that Vector guy think I needed to know that Flare had information?

No, no. Not Flare. A target, that's all he was. A nameless target.

But the contact _does_ have a name, and I know I'm right about who he is. I'd like to let him know that he's not as clever as he thinks he is. Maybe I'll give him that message when I get home.

I'm just about to transform again and head off when I hear a voice cackle.

"Gonna stand there all day, mate?" The accent is pretty thick, and the voice laughs again. It's almost like whoever this is can't seem to stop laughing. "Been watchin' you a while. I coulda taken you out cycles ago, and you wouldn't even have noticed. But what fun would that have been?" More laughter.

"Who in the Inferno are you?" My gun is instantly drawn. I'm just annoyed enough right now that maybe I'd prefer to stay and fight instead of escaping. After all, I'm sure I can leave whoever this is in the dust whenever I feel like it. Sure doesn't sound like a cop or anything, though.

"Aw, you don't know me? I know you, mate. You've got a big ol' bounty on your head, and I want it."

Another hunter. I groan inside. "Well, you're not gonna get it." I look around, my targeting eye scanning. But my scanners aren't picking up any visual at all. There does seem to be a faint signature—a Maximal one—but it's hard to track. The voice is also echoing, bouncing off the walls of the buildings. I can't quite place its origin.

"No? I always get me mark, just like you always get yours. But 'ere, lemme properly introduce meself." I follow the sound of clanking on the nearby fire escape, and then something invisible drops to the ground about fifty meters away. I spin towards the sound, but still see nothing.

The voice giggles again. "You still don't see me, do ya? Time for an upgrade on that optic, I think." A dark blue and grey bot suddenly shimmers into view, standing with arms folded before taking a sweeping bow. "Name's Crash. Thought you might wanna know the name of the bot who's gonna take you in."

"Well, since you seem to already know me, I guess I don't have to introduce _my_self. So we don't have to waste any more time."

"Nope." Crash grins. "Let's get right to it, then." He clenches his fists, and a long blade suddenly snaps out from the back of each wrist. He brandishes those, swinging them expertly as he jumps up and slices through the railing of the lowest fire escape balcony.

Right. Blades. Impressive-looking, but you have to get close enough to use them. I fire on him, but somehow he manages to dodge away at the last moment so that the shot isn't fatal. Still, it leaves a smoking hole in his side.

"You like _that_? That was a warning shot," I call to him.

Crash just giggles in return. "Oh, is that what you call it? I'd call it a _miss_." He looks down at the damage, and my optics follow his gaze. The damage is healing itself at a rate that I've never seen before.

With the damage nearly repaired, he looks back up at me. "Gettin' an idea of who you're up against yet, mate?"

"How…" I start to back away, gun still ready.

"Oh, the 'how' ain't important. What's important is that I'm gonna bring you in. Do you know how many bots are lookin' for you? I just need to find the highest bidder, and I'll be set for life."

"You won't be the first bot who's tried—and _failed_." I fire again, but Crash is quick. The shot goes harmlessly past him to impact a dumpster.

"Ain't so great when the target sees you comin', are ya, mate?" He suddenly rushes at me, blades swinging.

"Get slagged!" I curse at him, firing again as I back away. The shot hits him, but he only laughs and keeps coming. This guy is definitely making me nervous. 

He lunges at me, but I dodge away. Still, one of his blades manages to catch the end of my gun, and slices it right off. 

"Slag," I mutter. Well, enough of this. I don't feel like dealing with this guy up close any more. Let the glitched scrapheap chase me. We'll see what he's got.

I holster the gun and transform, taking off at full speed. He tries to catch me as I go past, but I swerve around him. 

"Oh, don't think you're gettin' away so easy, mate!" He suddenly disappears from my scanners again, leaving behind only that faint Maximal trace signature. He opens a channel, laughing crazily into it.

He's still after me as I veer through the streets and alleys. Every time I close the channel, he just manages to open another one. "Not gettin' away this time! I've hunted you before, but you always manage to run away somehow. But you know what I did this time?"

"Shut up!" I scream into the channel, closing it. 

Another channel opens again an instant later. "You think I was just standin' around watchin' you back there? Oh, no, mate, I was makin' real good use of my time! Just in case you tried to disappear again, I made a copy of your energy signature." Crash laughs again. "You really should pay more attention when you're out in the open."

He got a copy of my energy signature? Oh, slag…if that's true, I'm in trouble. He'll be able to track me as long as I'm outside my base and within his range. 

So I gotta get out of his range. 

I change tactics, leading him into a deserted sector. He thinks he's invisible with that personal cloaking device? Well, I can still "see" his trace signature. I scan for that and double back, following it as he tries to follow me. When I've almost got him, I transform and pull my other gun from subspace, zeroing in on the energy signature as I run. Until it suddenly stops.

"What?" I stop too, looking and scanning all around. How could the signature have just disappeared? Now all I'm getting is a faint Predacon signature, which obviously can't be his. There must be a street bot hiding around here or something. So where'd Crash go?

The Predacon signature is slowly coming closer, and I keep my eye out for the street bot to appear while still searching for Crash on my scanners. Then suddenly the Pred signature moves really fast. Before I can make sense of it, something slices across my back and I drop to the ground with a cry of pain.

"Too easy," Crash sneers as he shimmers back into view. 

Diagnostic reports from my damaged back are covering half my vision, but my scanner is telling me that his energy signature is now completely Predacon. He might have been able to fool my scanner before, when it was just a faint trace signature, but this… "But…the energy signature…that's impossible!" I get up slowly, sparks flying from the damage.

He pushes me back down. "Not for me, mate. Wanna see a trick?" He pauses, and the signature on my scanner switches back to Maximal. 

I can't help simply shaking my head in disbelief. "You can't just switch back and forth! The programming…!"

Crash laughs again, then suddenly sobers. "I'm master of me own programming." He looks down at me. "Are _you_?" More cackling.

This is bad. I have to get out of here. I start to get up again, and Crash immediately moves to push me back down. I dodge away this time, but his blade still cuts into my gun arm. I can't help but give another yelp of pain, but I fire anyway.

This time the shot goes through his torso, leaving a large hole right through him. He manages to lunge at me anyway, slicing my gun in half with one of his wrist blades before collapsing.

I back away a bit, leaving him unconscious and leaking mech fluid onto the ground. Both my guns are ruined now, so I can't finish him off like that. Instead I tentatively walk towards him and nudge him. He's still non-functional, so I take his arm, twist it around, and plunge his own blade into his head.

That should do it. I limp away and transform with some effort, still sparking from my own damage. My speed isn't quite what it was before as I head for base. Primus, that guy was a freak. I've never seen self-repairs that work so fast, and I've never heard of anyone being able to switch their signature back and forth like that. No wonder he acted so glitched. I mean, what does all that tampering _do _to a bot?

A voice appears in my comm, making me startle so badly that I nearly skid. The voice is weak and getting fainter as I drive out of range, but it's unmistakably him. "Run, run away. Still got…your energy signature…mate." 

And then the comm goes dead. I pour on as much speed as I can to get back to my base, shaken.

*

The job for Chronos completed, Risk returned to his base. He checked the time, noting that the job had taken him under a megacycle to accomplish. Once he had sent the customary "mission complete" message to Chronos, he purged the mission specs from his personal computer and filed the whole thing under "Too Easy". His dissatisfaction in the events of that evening was plainly written across his face as he flopped down on his bed, muttering to himself.

_"Command?"_

"Television."

The computer complied, choosing a random station that was airing a news broadcast. The reporter voice-over overlaid the scene of a smoldering building in an industrial sector, with a banner that read "Earlier Tonight" running across the bottom of the screen. "…flames were finally extinguished. The explosion that occurred earlier this evening in Materials Factory Forty-two destroyed more than half the building, causing many deaths among the Predacon workers. Rescuers are still combing the wreckage, but there are already nine confirmed offline." The camera panned the scene, coming to rest on the body of one Predacon that had been pulled from the building. His optics were dark, his chest was a gaping cavity, and what was left of the lower half of his body was a mangled mess.

Risk's optics widened, and he got up and moved to the chair in front of the screen for a closer look. "Grid…?" He stared at the body of the young Predacon, his gaze remaining riveted to the screen even as the camera moved to show something else. "What the slag were you doing there?"

The sound of a voice calling out in the background drew the camera's attention, and it focused on a Predacon survivor being pulled from the debris. His entire left shoulder had been crushed, and the rest of him was blackened.  "The inspector was here only a day ago!" he wailed. "He said everything was up to code, but Grid knew…" The poor bot trailed off as the rescue workers quickly put him in repair mode and carried him away.

The desk reporter's voice-over continued. "The Inspection Office has released a statement affirming that the factory was indeed inspected yesterday, and all equipment was found to adhere to safety codes. Worker error is being investigated as a possible cause for the explosion. Fortunately, the blast occurred during the night shift, when only a skeleton crew of Predacon line workers were in the facility, otherwise the tragedy could have been far worse."

"Yeah, like you care," Risk muttered. "It could have been so much worse if the Maximal bosses had actually been there, you mean. _Then _you might care." Grid's body was still visible in the background of the shot, and Risk continued to stare at it, shaking his head. "What were you _doing_ there? Thought you went to school and were headed for a _good _job. A slaggin' _drone_ could do that work."

When the news finally switched to another topic, Risk had the computer switch off the television. He slumped down and sat in silence for a few moments, brooding. "So who was right, huh?" he said suddenly. "Which one of us is still here?" It almost seemed as if sadness flickered on his expression for an instant, but that was gone as quickly as it had appeared. 

"I've got other things to worry about," he finally said, straightening up in the chair.

_"Command?"_

"It wasn't Chronos who gave Damask the info about LostBot."

_"Command?"_

"I got rid of the files from LostBot stellar cycles ago! Nobody should have had access to them! _Nobody should know!_" Risk seethed silently for a moment, trying to calm down. "Computer, access LostBot. I want to know if there's anything left there about me that anyone could have gotten a hold of."

_"Acknowledged. Searching…"_

Risk waited impatiently as the computer hacked the old databases. "I took those files out myself," he grumbled to himself.

The computer beeped. _"Search complete. Files not found."_

"Like it should be." Risk paused. "Has anyone _tried _to access them?"

_"Searching…Access attempt confirmed."_

"Who? When?" Risk demanded.

_"Accessed sixty-four days ago."_

"Yeah, I'll bet that was Damask. Did he get anything?"

_"Negative. LostBot private files moved three stellar cycles ago."_                            

"What? Moved? Don't you mean deleted? I got rid of my file nearly four stellar cycles ago." 

_"Negative. LostBot private files moved three stellar cycles ago."_            

"Slag, you mean there were more?" Risk began pacing. "Can you track where they went?"

_"Processing…negative."_

Risk groaned. "Any other access attempts?"

_"Accessed three hundred seventy three days ago. Accessed five hundred eight days ago."_

"Those records were supposed to be closed! Who's been doing this?"

_"Unable to track."_

"I'll find them," Risk growled. "Whoever's been doing this is gonna learn to stay out of _my _business. Computer, I'm going out."

_"Acknowledged."_

Risk angrily made his way out of his base. Any movement was caught by his harsh glare as he stalked down the darkened street, fists clenched. The small Predacons peeked out from their hiding places, but prudently stayed out of the way of his obviously black mood. Once inside his jet, Risk set a course and sat back to brood. After a few moments he accessed a file in his personal computer, one that he had not looked at in a very long time. 

_"LostBot: Predacon one-one-nine-seven-two,"_ the file stated inside Risk's head as he stared at the image of his childhood self superimposed on the left corner of his vision. _"Activation date: Sixteen Deci, 523 ADU, taken from child's internal systems. Whether child has been orphaned or simply abandoned is unknown."_

"Yeah, like most of us. Anyone care to try and find out? _Course_ not. Not that it matters."

The file continued_. "Child demonstrates aggressive and reckless behaviour, and resistance to authority. Punishment appears useless as a deterrent to such behaviour."_ The file went on to list various instances where those traits had particularly stood out, and Risk skipped through them.

_"Child instigated fight, with injuries…child found in possession of exceedingly violent holo-comics, protested their confiscation…no change despite punishment… child confined to school and bunk for extreme resistance to adult authority…no change despite attempts to model appropriate behaviour…child committed to repair unit for two days for observation after jumping off orphanage roof for unclear reasons…"_

"He dared me," Risk smirked. He continued skimming the file, which cited almost innumerable accounts of bullying and fighting, but his smirk disappeared when the topic changed.

_"…abrupt shift in child's behaviour. Child has demonstrated defensive aggression in regards to LostBot Maximal one-two-zero-five-eight…"_

The jet beeped  that it was nearing its destination, interrupting the file and bringing Risk's attention back to the outside world. He closed the file and sent it to the very back of his memory banks once more, then jumped out of the jet and ordered it back to a more secure location to wait for his call. Risk hopped a few rooftops in the mostly abandoned old neighbourhood, then landed lightly on the street in front of a familiar building.

The derelict building that was once LostBot orphanage loomed in front of him.

*

_***Two stellar cycles ago: Two hundred twenty-seven days after escape***_

I've finally found him. I've been stalking him for days now, and I'm finally gonna get my chance.

I watch him as he approaches the facility. This doesn't look like an "official" visit. Not only is it after-hours, but he only has two bots with him. I know he usually travels with an entourage _worthy_ of his rank.

The guards at the gate clear him for entry, and I focus on finding my own way in. This place has more security than an innocent transport loading facility. Definitely gotta be more to it, especially if _he's_ here. At night. With no fuss. Because if there's anything this guy seems to love, it's feeding his ego.

I take careful note of the guards' movements and make my way to the roof of the two-storey building, then let myself down on a line to peer through a small vent just below the roof. My targeting eye scanner enhances my view of the building's interior, which appears to be a mostly empty loading area. 

Yeah, there he is. One of the bots who works there steps forward to greet him and salute. "Welcome to Infinity Enterprises Eight-fourteen, General Sigma, sir. What can we do for you?"

Sigma replies with a short nod. "It's time for an update on your progress, doctor." He almost dwarfs the bot standing in front of him, being much taller and wider. I can tell that the bot is nervous in his presence. I'll bet most bots would be. Not me, though. All those medals and stripes are just ornaments to me.

"Of course, sir. Would you like to tour the facility?"

Sigma nods again, and the bot politely gestures for him to follow. They start across the large open area, heading for a door on the far wall. Slaggit, I guess I'm gonna have to lose him for a while.

"Is the Corrostop research progressing on schedule?"

The doctor looks pained. "We've had a few minor setbacks, sir, but I assure you, we are very close. Unfortunately, after exhaustive research, we have found it to be true that no more of the necessary ingredient "X" exists in the known galaxy. But we truly believe that with the right methods and combinations, we can synthesize it."

"Your tests so far have been unsuccessful."

Again the doctor winces. "Yes, sir. We thought we almost had it once, but the compound broke down after a few megacycles. The rust then spread even more rapidly, and the subject decayed to the point of death within the megacycle."

"And your supply of the germ?"

The doctor almost smiles. "Still plentiful. It multiplies so quickly when unfrozen that it is a very simple matter to ensure that we have all we need. And it is carefully contained, especially when in use. Used subjects are disposed of properly. There have been no accidents."

Sigma simply nods again as they all step through the door and into an elevator, which descends. Hm, sub-levels. I'll bet this place is a _lot_ bigger than it looks.

So these guys are researching _rust_? I thought our alloys were immune to rust. Even the oldest street bots I've seen have nothing more than wear and tear and a little tarnish. But that guy said this rust could kill a "subject" in under a megacycle.

Primus, if the rest of the Maximals only knew what was going on right under their noses! But what do I care. This is none of my business. I'm just here for Sigma.

Over the next couple of megacycles I carefully and quietly cut around the vent to make a hole just large enough for me to fit through. There are fewer guards inside this loading area than outside, and I'd prefer my meeting with Sigma to not be so limited by their scheduled security sweeps. 

Once that's done, I wait just outside my new window for Sigma to return. Considering what they're doing here, the near-lack of security is almost ridiculous. Must be all part of the cover. After all, this is supposed to look like an ordinary transport loading facility. Security is probably really tight on the inside. Good thing I didn't try to go in…last thing I want is to get mixed up in all _this _slag.

It's another twenty cycles before the elevator returns to the ground level and Sigma and the doctor step out, minus Sigma's escorts.

"I am quite satisfied, doctor," Sigma is saying. "I will see that your funding needs are reexamined by the budgeting department."

"Thank you, General, sir," the doctor simpers, and I can't help rolling my eyes and mockingly mouthing the words back. I can't stand watching bots fall over themselves to please someone just because they supposedly have authority. "Is there anything else we can do for you tonight while we wait for your inspectors to finish? Refreshments, perhaps? There is high-grade energon in the lounge…"

Nobody's looking this way. I take the opportunity to finally climb through the hole I've made and drop lightly onto a large crate, then duck down behind it.

"Very well. I'll wait here."

The doctor nods so deeply that it's almost a bow, and hurries off to the elevator again, leaving only two guards and Sigma in the loading area. I pull my gun and fire, quickly taking down both guards. Non-lethal shots, since they're not targets, but they'll be out for a good long time.

Sigma turns quickly when he hears the guards drop, but doesn't startle in the least. "Show yourself, now."

I step out from behind the crate, keeping my gun ready and not getting too close. Sigma has to be at least two-thirds of a meter taller than me, and he looks like he could break me in half with his bare hands.

Sigma makes no move towards any weapon of his own, simply glancing towards the two unconscious guards. "They never heard you coming.  Perhaps being sent back to basic training will teach them to be more aware."

I shrug. "If they had heard me, they'd be dead."

"As will you, if I find our conversation...unsatisfactory." Panels on his right forearm open and slide back silently to reveal a small arm-mounted missile launcher. He doesn't raise the weapon towards me, but my gun is instantly aimed at his Spark.

"Not likely. I'd get to you first."

"So sure. That might be considered a weakness." He smiles and looks around the room, obviously pointing out that I can't see everything at once. I put my scanners on full, just in case.

I'm keeping a careful eye on his weapon. Is that supposed to intimidate me? He's gotta know that if it moves at all, I'll shoot. "I thought it's why you hire me. Because you know I'll get the job done—_Vector_." I can't help smirking as I say this.

His tone and expression don't change one bit. "As can many others."

No reaction at all? He doesn't even care that I know? "Not as well as me. If you really thought that, you wouldn't be paying so much to hire the best."

Sigma smirks. "There are always Predacons willing to risk their lives if the pay is high enough. You're as disposable as the rest."

I roll my eyes. "I'm pretty sure you don't believe that any more than I do."

"Oh? You're nothing more to me than a tool, boy."

Anger swells inside me. "Don't call me that."

Sigma just laughs. "Do not presume to give me orders, assassin_._ You're still free because _I _allow it."

"That's a load of slag. I haven't been caught because I'm _good_."

A smirk. "Of course."

"Yeah, so maybe you don't want to get on my bad side, because I know all about you."

Sigma chuckles. "And I know all about _you_. Perhaps you're not as good as you think you are."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Suddenly this isn't going quite the way I'd hoped any more.

He smiles a moment more, then goes back to business, ignoring the question. "Now that we've finished with the formalities, what is it you came to say? Surely you didn't go to all this trouble just to make empty threats."

Slaggit, I want to know what he meant just now! I keep my game face on, though, and simply shrug. "Just wanted to let you know that I know."

"That I am Vector? I'm sure a comm message would have done just as well."

I wanted to see your face, scraphead. "I just thought it was time for a face-to-face. You know, just so you really know who you're dealing with."

He raises an eyebrow, then chuckles. "Indeed." After a moment he looks over my head to the opening I'd made. "Looks like you were here for a while before deciding to introduce yourself. I assume that you overheard some things here that are clearly not your business."

"Yeah, enough."

Sigma still looks as calm as ever. "You realize that if you say a word about whatever you know, that I may have to resort to a contingency plan?"

"Oh, yeah? And what's that, you're gonna try and kill me?"

Sigma glances down at his weapon, which is a prime example of military hardware at its best. "There would be no 'try' about it."

Yeah, sure. "I thought everybody knew by now that I can't die."

"There are those who would be happy to test that theory—at length." Another smirk. "But then again, some bots already tried that, didn't they?"

My gun hand wavers, and I hope he didn't notice that. "I don't know what you're talking about." I try to replace the rising fear with anger, and my finger twitches on the trigger.

Sigma looks down his nose at me with a disdainful smirk. "I know what happened at the Assassins' Guild, boy. Reveal any of this information you've learned to anyone, and I will personally ensure that you never see to aim a gun again."

My finger twitches again as memories come surging back, and I barely realize what I'm doing before I've fired on him. Sigma easily deflects the round off his armoured gauntlet, and his missile launcher is instantly aimed at my head. "Pull that trigger again, and we'll find out if you really are immortal, or only think you are."

My gun is still aimed at him, for all the good that'll do. Slag, I'd need a missile launcher of my own to get through that military armour. I'm in trouble here. It wasn't supposed to come to this! Okay, calm. Stay calm.

"Well?"

It's taking some work to pull myself back together and push those memories back down. "That was just a warning. Next time I'll bring a bigger gun," I manage to say, trying to sound like I'm in complete control.

"There will be no next meeting, if you have a functioning processor in your head. However, our…_relationship_…need not dissolve. Keep working for me, keep what you know to yourself, and you will continue to be paid well for the jobs I give you. Of course, if you're no longer interested, I could give the jobs to some _other _assassin who would appreciate the work."

"Fine." Gotta get back in control of this situation. "Just one thing: I don't need to know why the target needs to be offlined. Just send me what's necessary to get the job done. I have no time for useless details like that."

Is that another smirk? "Agreed. I'm pleased that we have an understanding, Risk."

Primus, this guy makes me _really _uncomfortable. Time to go. "Yeah…sure." I back away from him towards the crate under the vent. 

Sigma's optics continue to follow me, although he still hasn't moved. "Besides, you know that no one would believe you. After all, I am a respected _Maximal _military leader, and you are simply a Predacon killer."

"Yeah, whatever," I mutter as I hop up onto the crate and fire a line up to the vent.

Sigma calls up to me as I climb out the opening. "Remember what I've said, Risk. You know I have the power to carry out _any_ threat." 

It's obvious what threat he's talking about, and I feel a shudder pass through me as I jump down from the opening and sprint away, still avoiding the outside guards. I transform and take off for home.

He knows all about me? What's _that _supposed to mean? He's obviously known who I am for a long time now. I'm the guy who does his dirty work. What else is there to know?

And Primus, it sounds like he knows exactly what the Guild did to me. Slaggin' piece of scrap, threatening me like that! Would serve him right if he had to find some second-rate killer to get his jobs done. Still…he pays better creds than most. I've already placed my order through Solder for that jet I want, and I wouldn't have been able to afford it without the jobs Sigma's given me. And he's never tried to cheat me like Chronos sometimes does. Not like I'm gonna squeal on him. I don't care about all these glitched politics and the secrets those big corporations often have. So there's no _real_ reason why I shouldn't keep working for him.

I'll just stay away from him. _Really _far away.

"Hello!" The sudden voice nearby makes me skid, and I sideswipe the wall of the building beside me, making a noisy shower of sparks and some pretty bad scratches down my side.

"Been talkin' to the General, I see!"

"Slag!" No, not now…I just want to get home!

Crash pulls up behind me in his vehicle mode. "I heard it all. So the competition at the Assassins' Guild was too much for you, eh, mate? I've heard what they do to little freelancing brats like you." He cackles.

I speed up again, hoping to leave him behind. I know my cycle mode has to be faster than his vehicle mode. "Leave me alone and stay out of my life!" Primus, does _everybody _know?

"Oh, I don't think so. You're so very interesting—and there's the little matter of that bounty that I want!" He transforms without slowing down and shoots.

I dodge, and end up putting myself right in the path of a net fired from a spring-load mechanism on his arm. The net catches around my front wheel and I lose control, transforming as I hit the ground hard. My momentum forces me to roll, which traps me even further in the net. 

I can't help groaning—I'm gonna need some time in the CR-tank after this. I struggle in the net, trying to reach my weapons as Crash comes closer with that mad grin on his face.

"Gotcha!" Crash pops out one of his blades. "Easy!  Did your little chat with the General scare you that much?" He comes to stand over me, putting away his gun as his other blade snaps out. "I can scare you _much _worse than that. What was that he said about your eyes?"

"No!" I struggle more fiercely, but I'm so tangled in the net that I can't reach my holster or my subspace pocket. My optics widen as Crash comes to stand over me.

"Let's see, seems this contractor wants you alive. Didn't say you had to be all in one piece, though." Crash laughs again as he reaches down to grab my face and hold it steady even as I try to thrash free. He raises his blade above my face. "I guess the only question is, which one should I do first?"

"Don't!" I can barely think through the panic. I can't move! I can't fight back! Primus, he's gonna blind me! Not again, not again…

Then something clicks inside me. My last resort. As Crash tightens his grip on my face, I give my computer the command.

The extra set of wiring comes to life, and electricity blasts through my superstructure in a deliberate short-circuit, ripping right through Crash's hand into his circuits. We both go rigid for what seems like forever, and then the surge blows him backwards off of me with energy still crackling around him, his optics dark and his hand burnt black and half-melted.

I stay there for a few moments to regain my senses. My vision is flickering, and excess energy from the surge is still bleeding off, making my joints twitch slightly. That sure wasn't comfortable for me, either—that's why it's a last resort. I'm gonna need more energon as soon as possible.

I carefully untangle my arms enough from the net to be able to use the spikes to cut the rest of it away, and can't help groaning as I get to my feet. As I look down at Crash, I can already see his incredible self-repair programs fixing his damaged hand. His optics flicker, and I know he'll be back online in less than a cycle. Primus, that surge was meant to cause a near-fatal overload…any other bot would be down for a day, at least. But he's gonna come right back online…

Hold me down again, go for my eyes again…

Okay, just get out of here. Just go. Just go.

I transform and take off at nearly my top speed. My sensors tell me just as I'm nearly out of range that Crash is getting back to his feet. A giggle crackles in my comm, followed by Crash's voice.

"That wasn't very nice at all, my target. But I'll see you again, oh yes…"

A loud burst of static comes from the comm before it goes completely silent, and it takes me a moment to realize that I just offlined it myself to shut him up. Primus, he's never gonna leave me alone…

*

Risk crept around the back of the building and quickly scaled the fence, dropping lightly to the ground. The meager and battered playground equipment of his youth had almost completely been stripped away, scavenged for bolts and scrap. Risk crossed the empty yard to the door to find that it had been carefully sealed years ago. After a quick scanner sweep of the area to make sure he was alone, Risk set to work stripping away the seal with a precision cutting laser. Even though the tool was top of the line, it took him several cycles to open the door.

Risk quickly entered and shut the door behind him. He looked down the hallway, the silence thick around him. Aside from the fact that his view of the hallway was now down his gun sight, it looked just as he remembered it. He started down towards the bunkrooms, sensors alert as always for any sound. As he pushed open the door of each bunkroom in turn, he half expected to find the rooms bustling with small Predacons playing, fighting, and generally making noise. But the ten metal beds bolted along the walls in each room were empty, and the rooms were as quiet as the rest of the forgotten building.

Risk shoved open the final door on the right, his gun steady and his body tense as if expecting resistance from the bare walls that greeted him. He held that pose for a moment, then relaxed and headed straight to the bunk on the far left, looking down at it a moment before dropping onto it. The metal groaned a little as he did so. "Always thought these things were cheap," he muttered. 

Risk sat there for a long moment, unmoving. Then in a single swift motion he leaned down and looked under the bed. Finding only dust, he righted himself and got up, looking around almost guiltily. Risk glanced over to the bed right beside his, and for a moment it seemed as if there was a small bot crying there once again. Risk narrowed his eyes and suddenly gave the bed a hard kick, denting it in. "_Your _fault."

Taking a moment to calm himself, Risk glared at the walls, his targeting eye allowing him to see the room through frequencies and with resolutions he hadn't had as a child. Something in the upper corner caught his attention, his enhanced vision zeroing in on a lone electrical connection nearly lost in the shadows of the ceiling.  "There wasn't a light there," Risk mused, searching through his memory files to confirm it. He switched to his scanning mode, letting his targeting eye strip away the layers of the wall to find that the electrical connection was paired with a data line. Optics narrowed, Risk traced the hidden wires out of the room and down the hall. The lines split off in several places to lead into other bunkrooms, the indoor playrooms, and even towards the back and the playground. Hidden plates were in every room, positioned to blend in and go unnoticed by any but specialized scanners. It was all too clear to him now what these sconces had once held.

Cameras.

"_Watching_ us." Risk's quiet tone held barely contained anger. "Should've known." He traced the camera wiring back through the walls, expecting that their source would be the headmasters' suites. LostBot's main computers were in those rooms, their monitors dark and their keyboards dusty. Reminded of his original reason for being there, Risk strode to one of those, and was about to turn it on when he noticed that the dust on some of the keys had been disturbed. Much of it had resettled, suggesting that it had been a while since whoever had touched them had been there. Risk performed a quick scan of the keys, but the bot had left no residual energy signature traces, again reinforcing the amount of time that must have passed.

_"Accessed three hundred seventy three days ago. Accessed five hundred eight days ago."_

The building had long since been powered down, so Risk pulled a portable battery from subspace and plugged it into the computer. The system came online, error messages written in Maximal lettering highlighting the absence of several operating files. Risk growled to himself and accessed the remaining data. Parts of the record files remained, containing names of Predacons that Risk recognized from his childhood. However, he could not find any references to the few Maximals that had been there. All of their files had been moved, including that of the younger Maximal he'd known as a child. His own file was, of course, gone, still leaving no trail that he could follow. The latest update specified LostBot's closure date at nearly five stellar cycles ago, long before all the unknown accesses. There was no mention of the hidden cameras, no hint that they had even existed. 

Risk sighed and shut down the computer, returning his battery to subspace. With the files only leading to a dead end, he turned his attention once again to the wiring and data lines. They stood out in his targeting eye's scan readings, silent proof that someone had been watching, all through his childhood.

But strangely enough, the hidden data lines did not connect to any of the computers in the headmasters' suites. Puzzled, Risk exited to the hallway to seek out the source. The wiring from all areas of the building converged, then ended abruptly within an ordinary section of the wall. No matter which direction Risk approached it from, there was no doorway that suggested a room there into which the camera feeds could lead. Even more oddly, a regular low-level scan refused to let him see through this wall as he had done with all the rest. Risk switched to a more powerful probe, its pulse bouncing back to create images behind his targeting optic. The walls were nearly half a meter thick, but the scan peeled the layers away until a small room finally appeared, a well-shielded space hidden in the center of LostBot. One that had no door to lead out into the orphanage.

"What by Primus…" Risk pulled his cutting laser from subspace and set to work on the wall. After nearly twenty cycles of frustratingly slow work, he brought out one of his bigger guns and fired straight into the wall. The blast opened a hole about a meter wide, hurling debris halfway down the hall. Risk let out one of his nastier curses, then picked himself back up and pounded the butt of his gun into the edges of the hole, slowly making it big enough for him to climb through.

The room was an observation center. There was no doubt about where the camera feeds led, as monitors covered most of one wall. There were three seats, and the same amount of computer terminals. Shaking his head in disbelief, Risk sat down in one of the chairs and turned on the computer with the help of his battery. 

The screen lit up, but it was blank. Risk tried to hack in, but, unlike the records terminals, there was simply nothing to be found. This computer had been wiped clean, and Risk soon found that the other terminals had suffered the same. Risk growled as he disconnected his battery, barely stopping himself from pounding a fist into the keyboard.

"There's gotta be _something_!" He tried his scanner again, taking a careful look around the room. It appeared to be completely self-contained, the electric wiring within its walls showing that its power source was separate from the rest of LostBot. "They had to have gotten in here somehow." Still, there was no hint of a door—until he scanned the floor. The trapdoor wasn't hidden at all, and Risk mentally kicked himself for not having noticed it sooner. It was supposed to be motorized, and without power Risk was forced to dig his sword blade underneath it to pry it open until he could get his full strength behind it. The trapdoor groaned as he shoved it open, and Risk peered down the stairs into the unlit tunnel beyond.

Gun ready, Risk switched to night vision and cautiously made his way down the stairs. The tunnel was large enough to comfortably accommodate bots larger than himself, and Risk scanned it for any traces of sound or movement. Finding none, he started along, noting the presence of ceiling lights. Once again, his targeting optic zeroed in on their wiring, which connected to that of the observation room above and led down the tunnel. With all his sensors on high alert, Risk followed the tunnel.

It was a long way, but Risk opted to walk it in bot mode rather than transform. He moved silently, ever prepared, scanning around each corner before turning it. The tunnel went on for nearly two kilometers before finally ending with a single door. A tug on the handle proved that the door was locked, and there was no power to the keypad beside it. Risk took a connection from his targeting eye and attached it to the keypad, at once supplying it with minimal power and allowing him to see its inner workings. In less than a cycle, the lock clicked open.

Risk disconnected and readied his gun, then carefully opened the door. He met with no resistance; the space beyond was as empty as everywhere else he'd seen tonight. It was another observation room, though the monitors along the wall had been replaced with a large window. Risk stepped up to the window and barely managed to suppress a gasp.

The adjoining room held various computer terminals, monitors and equipment positioned around a table. Risk's optics went dark for a moment in a slow blink as he fought to regain a cold detachment from what he saw. "It's not the same," he murmured. "Different place. Not them." And yet he found himself opening the door to the lab and stepping through, dazedly moving to have a closer look at the equipment. There were circuit etchers, with their vacuum-sealed clean working boxes, and the specialized input boards and readouts of software analysis computers. Other tools were clustered around, all designed to have a _very_ close look at whatever might have lain on that table. 

Risk's attempt at stoicism wavered as he took all this in, his expression becoming increasingly disturbed until he caught sight of the attachments on the table. Restraints. And judging by the size and placement of them, they were meant for a bot the size of a child. Shaking his head in disbelief and horror, Risk slowly backed away from the table—until something was suddenly shoved against the back of his head. He startled and froze as a voice came from behind him.

"Welcome home, mate."

*


	4. Chapter IV

_--One stellar cycle ago: Six hundred thirty-three days After Escape--_

They're getting too close. I like things close, but I also like escaping with my life. I planned this one to be tight on purpose, but that stupid accident on my original escape route messed things up. They know who did it this time, and they know exactly who they're looking for. Well, maybe I'll get on the news tonight.

For now, I need somewhere to hide. This area is residential, which means there aren't going to be empty warehouses or storage areas I can just duck into. Going into a home has its own problems, not the least of which is possible witnesses. I don't want to have to deal with that. I just want to get done and get out of here. Even if I wasn't being chased, I might find this place creepy. Everything looks the same, with each small, separate, box-like home almost exactly like its neighbour except for hints of vandalism here and there. For properties, they sure are tightly packed. Not a rich place.

Too close, now. They're local, so they obviously know this area better than I do. I know that there are more out there than indicated by the sirens. They're going all out for this, trying to bring down the infamous Risk. I can't help but snort at that. No plain cops are going to catch me. Except that I can see the flashing lights about to turn onto this street. A place to hide would be good right about now…

There.

My tires squeal a little as I turn back around, having almost passed the home with the small shed just barely visible behind it. That should be perfect. I transform and sneak around the side of the two-storey house, ducking under the windows, and slip into the shed, closing the door quietly behind me. They'd better just pass by, because I don't feel like getting into a messy firefight tonight.

I hurry up to the shed, checking around it first, then quickly slip inside, closing the door behind me. I crouch down, my gun ready, and switch my targeting eye mode so that I can see through the shed wall towards the street. I don't think anyone saw me duck in here.

A sudden sound makes me startle, whirling and pointing my gun at its source. Wide eyes are staring back at me from behind a crate at the back of the shed. "Slag," I mutter. A kid. What's a kid doing in here? It only takes a quick glance around to see the pictures stuck to the walls and the toys in the corner. This isn't a storage shed—it's a slaggin' _playhouse_. I knew I should've scanned it first, but it was just supposed to be a shed! This isn't good.

The kid whimpers again, and I realize that I still have my gun pointed in his direction. I abruptly put it up, kicking myself. Aside from the sound, the kid hasn't moved. He looks freaked. Great…what with the spikes on my shoulders and my targeting eye, not to mention my gun, I'm probably going to give him nightmares. I take another look outside, but don't see or hear anyone approaching yet, so I holster my gun. If I need it, I can get to it. I'm a quick draw.

"Hey." Gotta keep him calm. The last thing I need is for him to start screaming or something. "Look, I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? I'm just gonna sit in here for a little bit." I gesture towards the toys. "I'm not even gonna touch your stuff. No worries, all right? I just need you to stay in here, and not call out."

The kid nods, the first movement I've seen from him. He's small, probably only about eight, and a Predacon. Even if he's living in one of the more comfortable Predacon areas, a couple of steps up from the streets, that's one thing we have in common, I guess. I notice that he's kneeling behind the crate, probably using it as a sort of desk or table. In front of him is a comic. There's something else we have in common.

He shrinks back a bit when I lean closer to have a look at the title. I don't like that—I don't want him to be so afraid of me. Primus, I wouldn't hurt a kid.

I point at the comic. "Hey, _Delta Breaker_. I used to read that." Okay, not so long ago—I have it up until last stellar cycle. I know it's geared more towards kids, but it's hard to give up on a title that I've been reading for so long.

"Really?" the kid blurts. "You read comics?"

"Yeah, why not? I collect all kinds."

His optics flash in a slow blink. "I dunno, I thought 'cause…'cause maybe you were hiding in here from the police, that you were…you know…'cause that's what you're doing, right? Hiding?"

I give a small sigh. "Yeah, kid, I'm hiding. Maximals. You know how it is."

"My dad says someday it'll be different."

I snort. "Yeah, sure it will. Anyway, just because I've annoyed some Maxies doesn't mean that I don't know good comics. In fact," I reach into a compartment and pull out one of my latest acquisitions, "here. _Syntron X_ number 239. You read that one?"

"Wow!" His eyes are even wider now, and he reaches out, then quickly takes his hand back. "Um, can—can I see it?"

Something in me wants to keep it, saying _no way, it's mine_, but that's just…left over from the past. It doesn't matter. I can buy all the comics I want now. "Yeah, here." I hand it to him, then turn to keep watch through the door again. I can hear the sirens on the street, and see two police vehicles pass by slowly. I keep very still as they do, and the kid, absorbed in the comic now, also isn't moving. This is perfect. And if I stay crouched, even if they do give this place a full sweep, I'll hopefully come off looking smaller, like just another kid in this playhouse.

"Hey!" The kid's voice suddenly breaks the silence, startling me. "It says there's going to be a double-sized issue soon, a crossover with _Delta Breaker_! No way!"

My gun is already out of its holster and pointing in his direction before I can stop myself, and the kid's jaw drops as he stares down its barrel. Part of me is wanting to take out the possible threat, kid or no, _he's going to tell on you, do something about it_, and I have to struggle to rein that in. The moment seems to last forever, but actually only a millicycle has passed before I quickly put up my gun.

"Relax, kid. I wasn't gonna shoot you." Kicking myself inside, I put the gun away. That was just great. I hope I won't have to start all over with him.

His mouth finally closes as he gives a small nod. "Oh." It's barely a whisper, and he still looks scared.

That was not good at all. I'm gonna have to work at this even harder now. Slag, what can I—oh, yeah. The comics. "And yeah, that crossover." Just keep going as if nothing had just happened. "I've got it on pre-order."

There, I can see him starting to relax again. "Wow, lucky…"

That's better. It's all good again. I can't help a half-smile at his reaction. "Yeah, I guess so." I haven't talked comics in a long time. This kind of reminds me of the old days, with…

"Mister? Why do you have those spikes? Is it part of your alt mode?"

His voice is still quiet, and I break out of that small reverie without visibly startling. "Huh? Oh. Uh, yeah, they are. They're defensive." And they do look pretty good as part of my motorcycle mode.

"They look really dangerous."

"That's the point."

He giggles. "The _point_."

I snort and shake my head slowly. Kids find the weirdest things funny. Outside, another police vehicle goes slowly by, its spotlight shining in this direction. I can even hear the cops' voices, although I can't hear what they're saying unless I increase my auditory range.

I guess the kid can hear them too, because his voice is much lower when he speaks up again. "Those are the police, aren't they? What did you do?"

I glance back at him before returning my attention to my view through the wall. "Nothing you need to know about, kid."

"I won't tell anybody…"

"No." I almost want to tell him. I almost want to teach him, to make sure he knows that there are bots out there who do the kinds of things I do, and other bots who pay them to do it. Maximal or Predacon, civilian or military, rich or poor, it doesn't matter. They're out there. _I'm_ out there. He should be warned.

Sure, and just end up scaring him. I wonder if knowing about these kinds of things would have made any difference to me when I decided to run away. I learned real quickly once I was out there, though. Still, he lives in a pretty nice place, for a Pred. Maybe he'll never have to know.

Things are quieting down out there, and I look back at the kid. He looks disappointed and is just staring glumly at the comic. This is no good. If he gets upset, he just might decide to tell on me as soon as I leave. "You got a name, kid?"

He shrugs. "No. Not a real one, anyway. Dad said I can choose a name when I turn ten next stellar cycle. My little brother just makes fun when he calls me Wink." The kid looks up again. "What's your name?"

I just shake my head. "That's a secret too."

"Oh." He flips to the next image in the comic, disappointed again. Slag. Can't have that. Um…

"You can call me One."

"One? Like in _One Underground_?" He almost smiles.

"Yeah, just like that. You actually read that one?"

It's his turn to snort. "No, I'm not allowed. Dad says it's too violent."

"Kind of is." The killing in it is more violent than what I do, and the fights can get pretty gruesome. "Should wait 'til you're older for that one." And have learned how much of it is truth.

"I guess. I like this one, though." He points to the comic in front of him.

It's been quiet out there for long enough. Time to get going. "Yeah? Good." I stand, and try one last idea to ensure that he keeps quiet. "Keep it, then."

His jaw drops. "Really?"

"Yeah. I can pick up another. On one condition, though: Don't tell anyone that I was here, all right? It would just be a lot of trouble for everyone if Maximals found out that I'd been here."

The kid shakes his head, grinning. "I won't. I won't even tell my dad about this comic. I'll hide it in here."

I fight off a smirk. "Good idea. It's all yours." After one last scan outside, I tentatively open the door. Everything looks quiet. "See you around, kid."

"See you around," I can hear him trying to copy the way I said it, "One!"

As I transform and take to the street, still cautiously watching as far as my sensors will allow, I can't help but chuckle inside at that. That kid wasn't so bad. Nothing like most of them back at LostBot, anyway. Guess that's the difference between having a real family and having headmasters and bunkmates.

I go to robot mode to open a grating, then slip down into the tunnels below the streets to make my way back to more familiar territory. If they're still looking for me, they're looking somewhere else, and I don't run into any more trouble. Another mission completed.

_I_ never needed a family to be successful.

- - -

The familiar voice sent a wave of panic through him, and Risk barely managed to keep himself from visibly shuddering. While the world was teetering on the brink of the Inferno, Risk's scans finally picked up data that had not been there before. The bot behind him was reading as Maximal. That information filtered through as his mind began to unfreeze, pushing back the paralyzing sense of dread with great effort. When he could think clearly again, Risk realized that that reading was useless in this particular bot's case. Once he had control of his body again, he muttered a couple of choice curses, and his hand tightened on his gun as he hurriedly tried to figure out how he could use it without getting shot first.

"Ah-ah!" The gun was shoved even harder against him, pushing his head forward. "Drop it. And unload yourself, mate. I wanna see every single one of your pretty weapons on the floor."

Risk growled as he dropped the gun, then slowly reached for his others in his holsters. As he dropped those weapons, he felt one sword slide out of its sheath on his back. Risk tensed, the sound of metal slipping past metal more ominous than it had ever seemed before. The other sword followed a moment later. Anger rose. He had had his guns taken before, but something about the _feel_ of the swords being removed made him want to strike out, and hard. It was too close, too personal. "Get slagged, Crash," he finally snarled. "What are you even doing here?"

The insane bot behind him giggled. "The question is, what took _you_ so long to get here?"

"What in the Pit is that supposed to mean?" Risk dropped his last gun on the ground, managing to stay still even as he felt his own sword blade trace lightly down the plating on his back. Somehow just this light touch of the blade felt worse than being impaled. Another enemy might have killed him by now, and as brutal as that sounded, it made more sense to him. Crash, however, was frightening in his unpredictability, and Risk had to fight hard to keep from shuddering as he felt the sword tip move across the back of his neck, still unnervingly gentle.

"I've been waiting for so long, for my little brother to come home!" The voice somehow managed to sound gleeful and deadly serious at the same time.

"What the slag? I'm not your 'brother', scraphead." Risk clenched his fists, disgusted at the thought.

His sword blade appeared from behind him, and laid itself along the side of his face, just under his eye. Risk glanced at the gleaming point. Ugly memories swelled, and he wanted to scream, he wanted to bolt, he wanted to do _something_, anything but just stand here while this maniac threatened him with his own sword. But he remained motionless, while the tip of it shone next to his eye as that needle had so long ago.

"You don't remember. That's sad. So very sad." Crash's tone dipped into melancholy, then rose again into a giggle. "Well, I'll fix that! Would you like the tour? I've been practicing it just for you, just waiting for you to come." Still pressing his gun to the back of Risk's head, Crash used the sword to reach Risk's guns and pull them back towards himself. "But before we start, let's see you empty your subspace pocket, eh?"

Risk swore quietly, his first set of plans derailed, and slowly reached behind himself to access his pocket.

Crash snorted at that. "Did you think I was stupid? I think you've got this bad habit of underestimating your enemies. A real bad habit. But I can fix that too, mate. I can teach you why it's _very_ bad to not give me the props I deserve."

"I can think of plenty of things that you deserve," Risk muttered, pulling his missile launcher from subspace. As soon as it was free it was snatched from his hand and hurled back against the wall with enough force to dent it in.

"Oh, me too, me too!" Crash took the extra gun from Risk's hand. "I've been thinking of the rewards I could get for handing you in. So much money! And then I thought to meself, what would I do with all that money? I already have this lovely home here, plenty of energon, lots of fancy weapons, and I never get sick or need repairs. So I asked meself, what do I want the most?" He leaned in closer, his helmet brushing Risk's. "And the answer was that I wanted my little brother to come home, because I have so many stories to tell him."

Risk turned his head away, unnerved by the contact. "Stop calling me that. You don't know me. I've got _nothing_ in common with a glitched piece of junk like you."

Crash let out a crazed laugh at that, grabbing Risk by the back of the neck and jerking him towards the table before slamming his head down onto it. Risk gave a cry of surprise and struggled to lift his head, but he had no leverage. The gun was right next to his eye again, but it wasn't the only thing that sent a shock of fear through him. He already hadn't wanted to be anywhere near the table, and although his focus was on the gun, he could still see the closest wrist restraint beyond it. Memories surged again, of his time at the Guild, yet at the same time coloured by something else that he couldn't quite identify. That old paralyzing terror threatened to take over, and Risk forced himself to feel anger instead.

"Now, see, this is what you're here for, mate. To get a bit of education. Eh, LostBot Predacon one-one-nine-seven-two? They took it all back once they were done with us, but I remember."

Risk growled in frustration as he tried to move. "So you've seen that file. So what? Looks like a few bots have by now."

Crash leaned his head down to grin into Risk's face. "I've seen _all_ the files, little brother." With that, he abruptly stood, yanking Risk up and throwing him against the nearest wall. The Predacon bounced off and fell to his knees with a groan. Crash waited for him to look up again before continuing, always keeping his gun aimed. "So I learned all the stories. Including yours." He grinned again, whispering conspiratorially. "Oh, the things I could tell you, my target. Your story is the best."

Risk gave no response, simply glaring at the mad bot in stony silence.

"Don't you want to hear it? It's a good story. It's their favourite story, really." The bounty hunter frowned. "I like mine better, though," he continued, brightening. "See, ours are the only stories that really matter anymore. I've written endings to all the others. I could tell you some of them. We could make a night of it! A little party, to celebrate your homecoming."

Risk slowly got to his feet. "I don't give a flying slag what you think you know about me." He was already looking around, assessing. It didn't look good, but he had been trapped before. He always got out somehow.

Crash smirked. "Don't think I don't see you looking around. No, this time you're going to stay, and we're going to talk about old times! And I think you'll care." He snorted. "Look at you. You think you're so big now. All grown up, not a little bot anymore. You don't care about nothin', do you, mate?"

"That's right." Risk scowled, trying to keep his concentration on escape plans rather than the insane Maximal.

"I know you cared before. Twists you up inside, don't it?" Crash raised a fist and clenched it. "So you gotta crush it." He brightened, grinning. "Then you can crush everyone else!"

Risk narrowed his eyes, but kept silent.

"Now, me," a blade suddenly popped out from the back of Crash's wrist, "I never had a problem with caring. Aside from caring about how much they wiggled when I skewered 'em, of course." He smirked, watching the blade as he turned his arm back and forth. "But you did. Had a soft spot for the little ones, eh? I'll bet you still do." Crash's tone changed to one dripping with disgust. "You let 'em control you that way. That's why you'll _never_ be as good as me."

With that, he suddenly lunged at Risk, his blade headed right for the Predacon's head.

- - -

_--One stellar cycle ago: Seven hundred fifty-one days After Escape--_

I'm not happy with this new job I'm supposed to do. I've had the details for a couple of days now, and I'm in no real hurry to get it done. I've got the third issue of the _Syntron X/Delta Breaker_ crossover, and I'd rather just sit down and read it, but this job really should get done today. I have the time and setup for it ready, and I don't expect there to be too much trouble during the escape, so I really need to just get it done or risk having to wait until next decacycle.

It's got special instructions. I prefer to do the job my own way, but the contractors are insisting that this one be public. Lots of witnesses to the death, send out a message, that kind of thing. The target's a Pred, some small-town politician who's getting a bit too popular. I figure the contractors have to be Maximal. Have to keep those Preds in their place, of course. I don't care—it's all work to me. I just don't like public jobs. They're harder, but that's not the problem. I like the challenge. I just don't like watching everyone else—hearing the screams, seeing the people panic, stuff like that. I think some others really like that kind of thing, but I don't.

The only good part is that it's close to that kid's neighbourhood, so I know I'll have a hiding place for my escape if I need it. I saw him again a few decacycles ago when I had another job in that area, actually. Sure, it was a little off my route, but it helped to throw the cops off the trail. I spent longer there than I really needed to, but that was just to make sure that my trail had gone cold. He was a lot more talkative that time, and I didn't care as much about keeping him quiet. At that point he'd already read the first issue of the crossover, and he was all excited to talk about it with someone else who really knew the series.

It came up at one point that he lived with his younger brother and his dad after his mother had died in an accident. I don't know why, but I asked him if he liked having a family. Like, wouldn't he have preferred to be on his own, especially if his father made rules and his little brother bothered him? He gave me this blank look, as if that was the weirdest question ever.

Whatever. I don't care. Maybe someday his family will really get in the way of something, and then he'll get it. He just doesn't know what it's like to be _free_, like I am.

So after learning this target's schedule for the past few days, I've found out that he visits a shrine to Primus every week. Lots of other bots will be there at the same time—some kind of worship session, I guess—so they can be the witnesses I need. I know some bots would balk at killing in a place like that, but it doesn't make a difference to me. In fact, if I have to send a message with this kill, I may as well make it a good one. Primus isn't going to protect them.

Besides, they're probably all stories anyway. Even if Primus really is the core of Cybertron, who says that he gives a flying slag about us? He's not going to save anyone. Believing didn't save any of my targets. Praying didn't stop the Guild from taking my eye. And I'm not interested in dying to save someone else just because fate might say so.

Primus can rust down there for all I care.

So I don't have a problem with fulfilling a mission in a shrine to Primus. I bet it'll increase my reputation, because then everyone will know that I won't stop at _anything_. Besides, I scouted the place and I found a perfect spot to take my shot from, and escaping, even with witnesses, shouldn't be too difficult, especially since that that kid's shed is nearby.

I pack up the weapons I need and head out. It's not too long a drive, especially at the speeds I like to use. I know that I'm more inconspicuous in cycle mode, but I still take all the precautions I can on my way there. No sense running into trouble before I even get to the job.

I get there early enough that people are still milling around outside. This is the kind of place that has no security at all, so if I wanted to I could walk right in the front door. I won't, though. I may be recognized, and the spikes on my shoulders tend to draw funny looks. There's a back way in, so I use that. Only the preacher is back there, and I have no problem getting around him. He's just a regular Pred with no fancy upgrades to let him know that someone is sneaking around nearby. This is almost too easy.

There's a balcony looking down onto the seats from the back of the shrine. From what I can tell, nobody ever goes up there, and it's high enough up that I probably won't be noticed. Getting up there by the back way is simple enough, although I know that I'm going to be using the one window up there to leave. It's fancy, covered in designs, and I don't think it opens. I'll probably have to break it.

As I get set up, the place starts filling up. The target will be close enough that I don't need a sniper rifle, so I'm just using one of my smaller high-powered guns. It isn't long before I spot the guy. He's got a few others around him, and he's shaking their hands as they all head towards their seats. Looks like a politician, all right. I let more people come in and sit down—may as well get as many witnesses as possible if that's what the contractor wants.

The preacher is getting ready to speak now, and the last people are trickling in. The service is due to start in a couple of cycles, but I don't think I'm going to wait until it does to get this job done. I don't want to have to listen to that stuff, and the place is full enough already. I take aim at the back of his head, but just as I do, he turns around to look towards the main door, which is underneath where I am, then gets up and motions to someone out of my sight. There couldn't possibly be a more clear shot with him standing in the middle of the aisle like that, and my finger squeezes on the trigger.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see two small bots rush up the aisle towards him. There's a small voice, calling "Dad!", and in that instant, I recognize one of them. Oh—

It's too late. My finger is already squeezing the trigger and I can't stop it in time. The shot is as visible and dead-on as I intended it to be, and the guy falls just before the kids reach him.

—Slag. _Slag._ I didn't just…

The smaller kid screams, and so do a bunch of the other bots in the shrine as some get up to see while others duck down. That's all background, though. All I can see is that one kid. He's shaking his father's shoulder, but his father isn't going to wake up. He's dead. My shot was perfect, as always.

Why can't I move? He's starting to look around, and I can't let him see me. Don't turn around, don't look up here, please…

Primus isn't answering any prayers today.

He looks up, straight at me, and our eyes meet. Slag, the look, the _look_ on his face. He knows it was me, that I'm the one who did it, and slaggit, my gun's even still aimed. I put it up quickly, not that that helps anything. It's too late. Too late. I couldn't stop myself in time. I was already pulling the trigger! I didn't know, I didn't mean to…

The littler bot wails, and suddenly somebody is snatching both kids out of the aisle, and people are screaming for help and to call the police. What in the Inferno am I still doing here? I should have already been gone! The mission's been accomplished, and I have to get out of here. I holster my gun and run to the window, looking back down at the chaos below. I can't see the kid anymore. Somebody must have taken him to safety.

I wouldn't have shot _him_, though…he knows that, doesn't he?

Come on, focus! Don't think about it. Just don't. Getting away is what's important now.

I break the window and fire a line to the nearest building before jumping out. Everyone is pouring out of the shrine like it's on fire, and I can already hear sirens. I'm behind schedule. Have to get to a safe point, and—slag, I can't exactly use that kid's playhouse this time, can I? Or ever again. I mean, technically I could, since obviously nobody is going to be there now, but…

I speed off on my alternate escape route, going underground as soon as I can. The cops around here aren't too swift, but I'm not taking chances. Of course, the escape is too easy. It should be harder. Make me work for it, slaggit! This job shouldn't be so simple. It shouldn't have been so easy. Still, I just don't feel like leading cops on a chase. Not this time. I just…I just want to go home.

There's no relief when I get there, though. There was no thrill, no rush, and I only go through the motions of checking the security, entering the base and unloading my weapons. I don't feel good at all. The job went off perfectly, with lots of witnesses, just the way they wanted it, but…Primus, _witnesses_. I killed that kid's father right in front of him, and he knows it was me. I can't get the look on his face out of my head—the disbelief, the accusation, the…betrayal.

I check my messages, and there's a new one from that contact, congratulating me on a job well done and informing me that the credits have been transferred to my drop-off account. Yeah. Great.

I take the extra comic out of my compartment and toss it onto the console in front of me. I'd been planning to give it to the kid. I'd bought it for him as even more incentive for him to keep the secret, because I thought that I was going to end up seeing him today. Well, he definitely saw me. He saw me kill his father. And now…Primus, I've just killed their only parent. I've made that kid and his brother orphans.

Like me.

I groan and slump down in the chair, burying my face in my hands. Those kids are Preds. Who's gonna want them? They'll be just like me, and end up in some orphanage like LostBot. Rotten life. Why couldn't I have just held back a little longer? One millicycle would have made all the difference.

And then what? I would have not done the job? Failed the mission? I've never failed before, and I don't want to start now. I could have waited, though, waited for a time when the kid wasn't there, when he wasn't going to see me do it. Yeah, right. And I still would have left him an orphan in the end. Not like I could have found him again later like nothing had happened. Maybe it would have come up in conversation: Oh, was that _your_ father I killed?

But maybe…maybe they won't have to end up in some piece of scrap orphanage. If they weren't just poor Predacons…

"Computer, locate bank account. Rafe, Predacon." I give the computer every detail on this guy that I have, including his home address, which I find that I know by memory.

"_Account located, Bank of Cybertron, account number 1525581." _The computer rattles off more information on the account, along with the guy's passcode that it has just hacked. He didn't put extra protection on the account to stop a computer as powerful as mine—but then again, who would bother going after a regular Pred's account? From what my computer has found, there's not all that much in there. And he was pretty well off, for a Pred.

"_Command?"_

I look up. "Create auxiliary account, and label it for his inheritors. Transfer—" Am I really doing this? Why? This kid shouldn't mean anything to me. I mean, I'd only talked to him twice. So why can't I get his face out of my mind?

"_Transfer amount?"_

"Transfer all funds presently in 'Drop-off' account to new Inheritors account. Random path, five-megacycle delay, and make sure that it's completely untraceable."

"_Acknowledged."_

There. That's it. With that amount of money, they hopefully won't end up in some low-end orphanage, having to share a bunkroom with a dozen other kids. Money talks. It'll be different for them than it was for me, I'm sure of it.

This feeling should be gone by now. I fixed things, didn't I? What's my problem?

No. No more. I don't want to feel like this, so I'm just going to stop it. I know what happened here. Look where being friendly got me. Why would anyone want to bother caring about anyone else, if this is what always happens? Well, no more talking to anyone, not even kids. I'm alone, and I'm staying that way.

I get up and stow the extra comic in the box with the rest of them. Not like I need anyone to discuss comics with, anyway.

- - -

With the blade plunging straight for his forehead, Risk found himself almost frozen. There was no time to move, no time to do anything except squeeze his eyes shut. There was a sudden pain, then the sound of impact, and the world seemed to stop.

It took Risk a moment to realize that he wasn't dead. When he opened his eyes again, it was to see Crash's face scant centimeters from his, grinning at him. The mad bot's blade was partly buried in the wall beside Risk's head, having slashed his helmet on the way by.

"Made you flinch!" Crash cackled, his other hand swiftly grasping Risk's throat and pinning him to the wall, pressing harder as he braced himself to jerk his blade from the wall with an ominous scraping sound. "Oh, come on, now, mate. Wasn't I just telling you that I had much better things to do with you than kill you? Don't you ever _listen_?" His blade free, he roughly threw Risk to the floor. "No, of course you don't. You ran when things were just getting good."

Risk grunted as he landed. "Yeah, well, why wouldn't anybody want to get away from you?"

Crash threw back his head with a great guffaw. "Oh, this ain't about me, little brother! Don't you remember? You didn't even know what you were runnin' from." Risk began to get to his feet, but Crash was already upon him, pulling him the rest of the way up, his large eyes wide with delight as he grinned at the Predacon's confusion. "Think about it. I know you can figure it out." Wrapping an arm around Risk's neck, Crash dragged him back to the table.

"What are you talking about!" Risk cried, his attempt to pry himself loose an exercise in futility. "You don't know anything about that!"

Crash snarled, losing his grin as he flung Risk up onto the table. "You're not listening again! You're a brat, just like you always were. But you can't fight back forever. You gave in, just like the rest of us." He snapped one of the restraints around Risk's wrist.

Panic shot through Risk, and he began to struggle wildly. "You're slaggin' crazy! I don't know what you're talking about!"

Crash snorted as he leaped up on the table, pinning Risk down and forcing him still with a blade held over his chest. "Does this feel familiar? Eh?" He leaned in closer, his smile returning. "The Guild weren't the first ones to do this to you, mate. Now come on, tell me. Why'd you run?"

"Get off me! Let me up!" Terror seized Risk, that familiar fear of being held down and unable to strike back. The feeling grew until he could no longer contain it, and there was a moment of sudden clarity, of understanding. "I had to!" he yelled out. "I had to be in control!"

His insane captor pulled back a little, his grin widening until it seemed to take over his whole face. "Now we're getting somewhere. Now the party can start!" With that, he hauled back and struck Risk hard, snapping the Predacon's head to the side. For a brief moment, Risk saw static, and then nothing.

When consciousness returned, Risk found himself alone. With a small groan, he raised his hand to his dented face, and slowly sat up. His gyros still felt off from the blow, causing some dizziness as he looked around, trying to figure out where he was. Thankfully, he was no longer held down on a table, but on a floor in the middle of a corridor. Staggering up, he found that he was still weaponless. The hallway was dark, but not completely so, due to the presence of a dim light at one far end.

"Welcome to the tour!" The sudden voice made Risk startle badly, and he whirled, but Crash was nowhere in sight. The intercom crackled a little as the hunter giggled, and Risk narrowed his eyes at it. "I'll be your guide. Sort of. The rest is up to you."

Risk groaned. "What in the Inferno do you _want_, Crash?"

"Enlightenment. I've found it, you see, and I've decided to share it with you, my little brother." He sounded almost sulky. "I've gone to all the trouble of setting this up just for you. I've even made it fun and interactive. You oughta appreciate it."

"I'd _appreciate_ getting out of here. Where am I?"

"I told you, you're home! Home again. The beginning, and soon, the ending. Now, see, the fun part is that you have to find your way around. If you go the right way, you get a prize. Shouldn't be too hard for you, mate. I know the place is big, but you're bigger now, too."

"I've never been here before!"

The cackle was so loud that the intercom shrieked with feedback, then it abruptly switched off, leaving Risk in absolute silence. Risk swore quietly as he looked both ways down the corridor. One led to a dead end a few meters away, and the only door there was locked. This wasn't the place where he had entered, but maybe he could get out without having to follow Crash's idea of a maze. There was no power to the door, and he connected his targeting eye to it, hoping to feed it some power and hack it open at the same time.

A sudden pain made him cry out, and he jerked the wire free of the door. The surge that he had received seemed to crackle around in his head, causing his optical system to flicker wildly before finally stabilizing. The pain in his sensors lingered, though, and he gave a frustrated moan as he brought a hand up to cover his eye.

"Ah-ah!" The intercom came to life again. "Oh, I guess I should have told you that you're not allowed to cheat."

A wordless roar suddenly erupted from within Risk, and he punched out the intercom, crushing it and sending the corridor once more into merciful silence. As the pain behind his eye began to fade, he gathered his wits about him and finally began walking towards the other end of the corridor. Any other door that he checked along the way was locked and powered down, and he didn't make any more attempts to open them.

Upon reaching the end of the corridor, Risk found himself with the choice of going left or right. Neither direction was lit at all, each disappearing into blackness. Risk switched to night vision, but nothing stood out to him either way. With no way to know which way was correct, he chose to go left, figuring that if it turned out to be wrong he would simply turn back. He still checked each door along the way. "Got to be a slaggin' point to this," he murmured to himself, simply to put voice to his uncertainties.

There was one last door on the right, and when he tried it he was surprised to find that it was unlocked. It was also powered down, but not difficult to slide open. Risk did so, and peered into the room, his night vision easily piercing the gloomy darkness. It seemed to be an old office, containing a desk and a couple of chairs. On the desk was a monitor and, as Risk approached, it suddenly lit up and began playing a video file. Risk startled, but quickly recovered enough to switch off his night vision in order to see what this was, expecting some kind of maddening message from Crash.

Risk stared at the screen, stunned. Crash was nowhere to be found in this video, but it was disturbing nonetheless.

- - -

_--Subject LB-Pr11972: Session 1. Twelve Duon, 529 ADU--_

"This one looks promising." The Maximal turns away from the table to face the camera. The black and silver child behind him on the table is motionless. "LostBot Predacon 11972 is a little over five stellar cycles old. Programming has not yet solidified into permanency. It's still malleable. This is the perfect time to begin."

He walks around the table, pointing to various readouts coming from the monitors that are hooked up to the child's simply body. "A strong Spark, sturdy body, decent motor skills. No defects."

"Personality?" This from someone off-screen.

"Stable, as far as we can tell. Normal levels of aggression for a Predacon, some resistance to conventional authority. He is the object of bullying, as many of the younger ones are. Further observation is warranted, naturally."

"Observers are being assigned as we speak. Background?"

"Uncertain if this is a case of abandonment or if he has truly been orphaned. He was simply found wandering. After nearly two stellar cycles at LostBot, no one has attempted to claim him. Of course, such an occurrence would certainly be rare for small Predacons found alone."

The child on the table stirs slightly, his face pinching, and the small sound that he makes is picked up on the file.

"What's that? He shouldn't be waking up yet."

The Maximal quickly turns to a console, adjusting something, and the child's body relaxes, his flickering blue optics dulling to their previous darkened state. "Hm, that was the usual dose for a child of his age and size. This one seems to be quite the fighter."

"All the better." There is a measure of satisfaction in the tone. "Excellent, we'll take him." His voice became quieter, speaking to someone else off-screen. "Inform the head of LostBot that we'll be using this one, and that we'll be requiring a private, secondary file on him to be created. He should know the procedure."

The Maximal checks on the child again. "Shall I begin his preparation?"

"Yes. Keep us apprised of your progress, especially if there are any problems with his receptiveness to the changes."

"Understood." The Maximal turned back to the child, whose head had fallen to the side after his struggles to awaken, leaving the cable that connected under his helmet to the nearest console exposed, and carefully turned his head straight again.

- - -

The file ended there as the monitor switched off, plunging the room into darkness once more. Risk made no move, simply staring in mute shock at the screen that he could no longer see.

"Did you like your prize?" Crash's voice burst cheerily from the room's intercom.

There was a long silence before Risk finally spoke. "What the slag kind of sick game is this?"

"It's a story, I've already told you that. That was the beginning. I don't have to tell you whose story it is, do I, little brother?"

"That's not me!" Risk exclaimed, his words edged with desperation. "That's some other kid! I don't remember that!"

Crash giggled. "Denial's funny."

"Smelt you!" Risk's voice was rising. "That kid isn't me! It's _not me_!"

"Of course it is! Why so upset? Didn't you hear them? They thought you were perfect. A good little test subject." His tone darkened. "Why, they _loved_ you."

There was a pause. "No! You're slaggin' lying, and I'm through here!" Re-engaging his night vision, Risk stalked out of the room, his fists clenched. Crash's merry hummed tune followed him until he was down the hall and out of auditory range of that particular intercom panel.

Risk slammed a fist against the wall as he followed the corridor. Crash was silent for now, but that did nothing to dull the Predacon's anger. He strode down the hall, eventually entering another section. A single door along the wall suggested a very large room behind it. Risk ignored it as he passed. When he reached the end, there was another door, but it was locked. Growling, Risk stepped back and kicked it, but it didn't budge. He hadn't really expected it to, but he swore all the same, and from somewhere nearby, a small giggle sounded through an intercom. Frustrated and with no other choice, Risk turned back to check the other door.

As suspected, it was unlocked and allowed him to enter. What he saw gave him pause. It was indeed a big room. There was what appeared to be a virtual targeting range along one wall, and obstacles set up around most of the rest. A large window, its glass tinted dark to camouflage it, was along one of the side walls, obviously for observation. The whole thing looked like a training center.

"Welcome to your old playroom." Crash's sudden voice never failed to make Risk jump. "Would you like to have some fun here? Maybe show off like you used to?"

"I don't know this place!" Risk knew it was useless.

Crash ignored him. "Let's see if you've still got the old touch."

"I'm not gonna play your stupid games!"

A giggle. "We'll see." At that, the room began to power up, partitions in the walls raising to reveal the muzzles of weapons set at various heights all around the room. "Ready? You'd better start moving."

"Forget it, I don't have to do anything! This is only a simulation room!" Risk stood his ground even as the weapons lit up.

"Is it?"

One of the guns suddenly fired, and Risk cried out in shocked pain as the laser tore through his left shoulder, the force of it spinning him halfway around and making him stumble backwards.

"Oh, did I mention that I've upgraded this room? After all, how can you get any real practice done without live ammo? Come on, you're a pro now. No more kid stuff."

Grimacing, Risk clutched at the blackened and sparking wound. "You slaggin'…" He trailed off, his eyes widening as the other weapons in the room targeted him. With no more time to think, Risk reflexively dodged backwards, then ran back to the door and tried to open it, only to find it locked. As he reached for the keypad, another laser struck right beside his head, forcing him to dodge away as more shots left scorch marks on the door.

With his night vision beginning to get overwhelmed by all the weapons fire, Risk switched back to regular vision as he raced towards the obstacles in the room, hoping for cover. As he dove for the closest one, the wall that served as the background for the virtual targeting range lit up. Instead of projected targets, it was showing a video that took up the entire wall. Risk saw more laser fire on it, and something small darting around the beams of light. There was no time for him to spend very long looking at it, though. The weapons shifted position, rendering that piece of cover useless as they nearly hit his foot, and Risk was forced to keep moving. Although he could only catch pieces of the video visually as he raced from cover to cover, he saw that it was actually once again the little black and silver bot, looking a few stellar cycles older now.

Driven from each hiding spot in turn, Risk leapt, dodged, rolled and weaved his way around the room. The only possible safe point that he could see was where two small walls blocked off the far corner of the room. He had to get there. However, it was not as easy as it seemed. Not only did he have to contend with the weapons, but also with the obstacles moving around, springing up from the floor where there had been none before, or sinking away or changing direction in a place where he thought he had been safe.

Something in the back of his mind noted that the pattern of the weapons resembled a simulation of pursuit. The way they moved, the angles, the heights—he could easily imagine a group of possibly twenty pursuers chasing and firing at him. On the screen, when he was able to look, Risk noted that the kid was also on the defensive, although he had a practice gun and was using it. Still, he used the covers just as Risk did. From what little Risk could see, the kid had a couple of pro moves that he himself was still using.

Risk worked his way through the room, flattening himself to the ground to avoid a near wall of laser fire that swept above him and flipping and leaping over other beams of light that cut swaths through the obstacles that he had only moments ago used as cover. His shoulder complained whenever he used it, but he drove that pain to the back of his mind. The video continued to play, and Risk caught sporadic snippets of commentary on how the "subject" was performing, but those barely registered as he concentrated on his own moves. Each time Risk reached cover, he looked up at the large screen, slowly understanding that the kid was running the same course that he was, even if the feed was showing it a bit behind. The insight disturbed his concentration, and a laser scorched the plating on his side as it grazed him.

He kept moving, adapting, and found himself automatically calculating the patterns now, matching them to simulated pursuers until he was able to have some measure of prediction of where they would strike from next. The trial got a little easier, and he finally dove behind the cover of the blocked-off corner. As he did, he heard all the weapons power down, the partitions once again closing them off from the rest of the room. His cover shrank away as well, and Risk caught the last of the simulation on the video, watching as the kid made one last shot to the exact spot that Risk had predicted was the location of the closest pursuer, then dashed from the last obstacle to the corner, diving for it just as he had.

The bits of the video that he had seen suddenly all came together in his mind, and Risk could only stare in silence as realization struck him. The little bot on the screen had matched his moves, down to the last twitch.

- - -

_--Subject LB-Pr11972: Training Session 42. Thirty-one Unon, 533 ADU--_

The practice gun in his hand is immediately returned to the rack on the wall beside him, and the small bot waits expectantly as a Maximal enters the room and strides over to him. The adult towers over him, and the child looks up hopefully, his body slumping a little in exhaustion.

The Maximal gazes down at him. "That was well-done."

The kid's face brightens, and he straightens his shoulders in pride as a smirk creeps onto his face.

"However, I'm afraid that you'll have to do it again."

His face falls in an instant. "Why? You just said it was—"

"You missed one of the targets."

"But there were twenty of them! And they were all moving! It was really hard!"

"No excuses. You're going to do it again until you get it right." He takes the gun off of the rack and hands it back to the child.

The kid takes it, but his face crumples. "But I don't want to! I'm tired!"

"No excuses. Do as you're told."

Frustrated anger bursts out of his small frame as the child throws the gun to the ground. "No! I don't want to! I'm tired and I wanna go home! I wanna go home now!"

The tone is stern and threatening. "Disobeying again?"

He stamps his foot, his temper building into a tantrum. "I wanna go _home_! I worked really hard today! I only missed _one_!"

The Maximal seizes the child's arm. "That's quite enough. I think that you're going to stay in the Bad Room for a while."

The kid gasps, the anger changing to fear. "No! Nonono, I'll be good! I'll do it again!"

"Too late. You've been bad again, and you're going to learn that bad behaviour is never acceptable here." He drags the struggling child towards a door on the same wall as the observation window.

"I don't want to go in there!" His voice is rising to a shriek as he tries and fails to pull away from the adult's strong grip. "I wasn't bad! I wasn't! I did really good! I only missed one! I can do it again and get all of them! I _can_!"

There is no more response from the Maximal as he opens the door, revealing only darkness beyond. He has to wrench the child's free hand from the doorframe before managing to push him all the way inside and close the door.

The sound of muted pounding and muffled screaming is picked up on the video. "Lemme out! Please! I wasn't bad! I tried really hard, I really, really did! I'm not bad!"

The Maximal ignores the noise as he turns to speak towards the observation window. "He'll say it sooner or later. These tantrums do get tiresome, though. Perhaps more work on his programming will help." He glances towards the closed door. "Still, he has only just turned nine. He may grow out of them. His skills certainly are encouraging, and he's far beyond his peers. He may be our best operative yet."

Behind the door, the screaming has turned to sobbing.

- - -

There was a chuckle from the intercom as the video shut off. "You haven't changed a bit."

Risk stood slowly, all but ignoring the pain in his shoulder. "No. That—"

"… 'Wasn't me'. Oh, no, of course not. Your body, your voice, your _skills_, but oh, no, it can't be _you_!" Crash snorted. "You're really good at foolin' yourself. No wonder it worked so well on you."

"What worked! What is all this? What does it mean? I don't remember any of it!"

"Oh, the mighty Risk doesn't remember it, therefore it never happened, is that it? Come on, didn't you ever wonder _why_ you were so good? Found you were quite the 'natural' with a gun when you first picked one up, didn't ya?"

Risk began to back away in the direction of the door, his expression dazed. "No, no, I was good because I worked at it! I trained _myself_!"

"No, mate." Crash almost sounded sane. "T-Minus trained you."

"T-Minus…" Risk's memory searched itself, strained, and came up empty, yet something made him order it to run the search again and again as he inched back towards the door.

"That's right, little brother. You have a good long think about that. Oh, and that door's still locked." There was a low chuckle. "There's only one way out of this room now."

Risk froze where he was, his gaze sliding over to the other door, the one near the window. "No. Slag that."

"Now, now, haven't you learned yet that you're not allowed to say 'no' in this room? Bad things happen to bots who say 'no' here. Like me leavin' the lasers on 'til you can't run from them anymore."

Torn, Risk stared at the door, remembering the darkness behind it and the child's reaction to it. "What's in there?" His voice was a lot less steady than he had intended.

"You're just gonna have to find that out for yourself, aren't you, mate. What's to be afraid of? You're a big bot now."

"I'm not afraid!" Risk's tone sounded more petulant than angry. He lingered, still watching the door, then slowly started towards it, his apprehension building. Once he reached it, he paused once again, trying to steel himself even though he knew that there was no reason to have to do so. "It's just dark," he murmured. Switching to night vision, he opened the door.

There was nothing inside. The room was small and bare, almost a closet. Risk stepped inside, looking around in bemusement. Just a room.

"Take your time, mate." Laughter was about to burst through Crash's voice again. "You'll be in there for a while."

The door suddenly closed behind him. Risk whirled, and as he did, his night vision abruptly went to static. "What the slag…!" he blurted, quickly switching his vision to another scan mode, then another, until he had run through them all. None of them worked. All of his sensors, all of their frequencies, had been jammed. His regular vision gave him nothing. The darkness was absolute.

Reaching out blindly, Risk's fists found the door and began to pound on it, the movement straining his damaged shoulder. "Let me out of here! Hey! Open the slaggin' door!" There was no answer. He felt around, but there was no keypad or other locking mechanism on that side of the door. He was trapped.

Holding back his panic over being completely blind, Risk ran his hands over the walls, searching for anything that might help. The room felt even smaller than it was, as if the darkness was closing in on him, but he forced himself to concentrate, checking every centimeter of the walls. Having been over the side wall, he reached to the back one.

It wasn't there. Surprised and confused, Risk took a step forward and reached out again, but still encountered only empty air. Before, he had almost been able to touch the back wall while keeping his hand on the front one. He tried that again. The distance was most certainly not the same. Risk was just about to take another step, his hand still reaching for the wall, when a low, growling sound came from somewhere in front of him, where the back wall should have been.

Risk went still, tensing. Realizing a moment later that his hand was still outstretched, he quickly pulled it back. The growl came again, somehow sounding machinelike and yet not, accompanied by clanking. "Who's there?" Risk's voice wavered a little. "Crash?" His only answer was more noise, far too much noise to be made by one bot. Trying to judge the distance of the sound was almost impossible, as it seemed to echo through a space that Risk could only guess was far larger than the small room that he had entered. In an attempt to force back the fear, Risk stepped forward again, reaching out, searching for the wall, but it still wasn't there. He wanted to keep going, to prove to himself that there was probably nothing there, at least nothing to be afraid of, but for some reason he dared not move any closer nor leave his arm outstretched for long.

The noise came again, a little closer, as if something had been unleashed in the room and was advancing. Risk backed up, automatically reaching for weapons that weren't there, an irrational fear quickly growing inside him. "What's in here? Crash! Slaggin' answer me!"

Still, there was no response, and Risk stepped back again until he had pressed himself up against the door. Something was coming, and he was blind and weaponless, helpless. "Get back!" he shouted into the darkness. The noise was getting louder and closer, with ominous crackling and banging now added to the rest. Whatever it was, it sounded big, and dangerous. And it was coming for him. Risk's fluid pump hammered in his chest. "Stay away from me!"

It didn't matter that he was no longer a child. Afraid to turn away from whatever it was completely, Risk looked back through the darkness over his shoulder as he pounded on the door with both fists. "Crash! Let me out! You can't leave me in here!" His voice rose in pitch until he was screaming above the approaching terrifying sounds, every bit of logic and concentration in his mind having been taken over by pure fear. "_Crash!_"

- - -


End file.
